“Into the Lion’s Mouth”: The Arrest of Tom Dale

The Royal Horse Guards (Blues) in 1853 (Image: National Army Museum)

In the modern age, the arrest of the captain of an international cricket team would make headlines across the world and generate enormous discussion. Even more so if it took place during a match. And if that captain proved to be someone other than he claimed to be, the repercussions would be huge. And yet all those things passed almost unnoticed during a very low key tour of England and Scotland by a Canadian cricket team in 1880. Only a handful of spectators were present when the man — listed by newspapers and on scorecards as Thomas Jordan — was taken away during the first day of a match against Leicestershire by a sergeant in the Royal Horse Guards and some policemen. Apparently only one journalist was there to see it, but news travelled rapidly afterwards until everyone knew the reason for the arrest: “Jordan” was actually an Englishman called Thomas Dale, wanted for desertion from the Royal Horse Guards eight years previously. And when the details emerged, the story was a strange one.

The Canadians — referred to by CricketArchive as the “Gentlemen of Canada”, but all contemporary reports simply called them “The Canadians” or “The Canadian Team” — were one of two sets of cricketing tourists in England in 1880. Their fellow visitors were an Australian team led by Billy Murdoch. Whereas no Canadian team had visited England before, this was the second “official” Australian team to play in England. In hindsight, the summer was a vital one because towards the end of the tour — after a summer in which they found it difficult to arrange fixtures against quality teams — the Australians played a match against a representative English team which was later recognised as the first Test match played in England.

Owing to the sensational nature of “Jordan’s” unmasking and arrest, the events of the 1880 Canadian tour have proven irresistible to some modern writers and the tale has been retold a few times online or in print. However, these retellings often get important details incorrect. Contrary to the impression given by contemporary sources — and repeated in all subsequent versions of the story — “Jordan” was not the official captain. Instead, the team was nominally led by a 47-year-old cricket enthusiast, the Reverend Thomas D. Phillips. However, Phillips did not arrive in England until the fifth game of the tour, having travelled separately. In his absence, the team was led by the “sub-captain” (i.e. vice-captain), the man who called himself “Jordan”. However, another detail in modern retellings is pure invention, a twisting of the narrative to add drama. It has been suggested that “Jordan” was responsible for organising the team and did a poor job; as a result, the tour was chaotic and unsuccessful. But most of the arrangements were made by the player-manager H. Miller, who was still seeking opposition to fill the fixture list as the team left Canada. In fact, nothing is known about how the tour came about, whose idea it was nor from where its funding originated.

Rev. T. D. Phillips, the actual captain of the 1880 Canadian team (Image: The Canadian Cricketers’ Guide)

The inspiration was almost certainly the successful (and remunerative) tour of the United States and Canada organised by Nottinghamshire’s Richard Daft in 1879. But unlike Daft’s team, or that of the 1880 Australians, the Canadians lacked a certain legitimacy. Only four of the side had been selected for the recent match played between Canada and the United States, a semi-regular series dating back to 1844. And in late May, an apparently well-informed Canadian wrote a letter published in the English press that denounced the entire tour. He revealed that three of the team were living in the United States; seven were English emigrants to Canada; and only five were Canadian. He continued: “Every honest cricketer in Canada scouts the scheme as ridiculous in the extreme. The newspapers are all down on the undertaking, and hope steps may be taken to prevent their playing as the representatives of Canada.” He claimed that only one man (not, incidentally, “Jordan”) “plays well enough to be in a second eleven of county colts, therefore their reception [in England] has not been too enthusiastic”, and that the only hope of any success was that enough money would be taken at the gate to pay the team’s expenses and allow for “an enjoyable pleasure trip”.

There was one curiosity about the anonymous letter that might have raised suspicions had anyone been paying attention. The writer named several players when discussing where they came from; one of these, who he said was based in the United States, he called Dale. But none of the coverage of the tour in the British press listed anyone called Dale as part of the team. Instead, there was someone called “Jordan”; no-one apparently noticed the discrepancy and later writers missed the implication that the Canadians already knew that “Jordan” was the assumed name of Dale. However, the author of the letter was apparently unaware of the origins of Dale/Jordan; he did not include him in the list of English-born players, even though it would shortly emerge that he had been born in Yorkshire.

In the meagre early coverage of the tour, “Jordan” did not stand out. One early article, in the Dundee Evening Telegraph, called him “a most successful bowler and hard hitter, and one of the most thorough cricketers in America”. He performed well enough in the opening four games, taking 33 wickets in the first five games (at an average of around 10), including eight for 70 (and twelve wickets in the match) in then opening game and nine for 54 against Hunslet. He also scored 126 runs at an average of 18, including a fifty against Greenock.

“Jordan” was one of the few successes in the early weeks. The team arrived via boat in Glasgow in May and began the tour in Scotland. After winning their first match, against the West of Scotland, the Canadians drew against Greenock and lost to a team of former pupils of Edinburgh’s Royal High School. Moving into England, the team lost to Hunslet before playing the newly formed minor county Leicestershire — their strongest opposition to that point — in a two-day game beginning on 2 June 1880. The game took place at the ground now known as Grace Road, but then known locally as the Aylestone Park ground (after the area in which it was located).

Overnight rain delayed the start, and play only began at one o’clock. Two of the team — including the official captain, Phillips — had landed in Liverpool the previous evening and arrived in Leicester after play began, taking part as soon as they reached the ground. The only first-hand report on the game — and therefore the only account of the arrest — appeared in the Hinckley News. Leicestershire batted first and were dismissed for 168; “Jordan” took four for 49. When the last wicket fell around 5:15, the Canadians made their way to the changing tent that had been provided. Suddenly, a small group of men quietly surrounded “Jordan”. One of the group was Sergeant Walter Strange of the Royal Horse Guards, the others were plainclothes policemen. Strange, watching the game from the boundary with field glasses, had identified “Jordan” as a deserter from the Royal Horse Guards whose real name was Thomas Dale. As “Jordan” left the field, Strange confronted him, accused him of being Dale and said that he had come to arrest him. “Jordan’s” protestations of innocence did not convince the policemen, who arrested him and took him from the ground with a minimum of fuss. The tiny number of spectators (who numbered under twenty) might not have been aware of what was happening, but “Jordan’s” team-mates were shocked, having been unaware that he was a deserter (even if they had almost certainly known his real name). The shaken team slumped to 36 for six that evening. “Jordan” was replaced in the team with the agreement of the opposition the following day but more rain meant that the match was drawn.

After Jordan/Dale’s arrest, the tour stumbled on for around six weeks. The press were kind, making allowances, but concluded that Canadian cricket was simply not very good, particularly in comparison to the Australians. Two games in Wales were abandoned in the immediate aftermath of the arrest and results remained poor. The team lost heavily to Stockport, the Orleans Club and the Gentlemen of Derbyshire, although they beat the MCC and Surrey Club and Ground by playing with fifteen men against eleven. Even the use of local reinforcements, including the Nottinghamshire professional Walter Wright, could neither improve results nor attract spectators and the team was operating at such a heavy loss that money ran out. A few days after the Canadians played Stourbridge, the tour was abandoned and the remaining fixtures — of which there were several — were abandoned. The final record — played 17, won 5, lost 6, drawn 6 — was underwhelming given the low quality of the opposition.

Meanwhile, Dale faced the consequences of his deception and his desertion. The day after his arrest, he admitted his identity when he appeared before Leicester Police Court, charged with desertion from the 2nd Horse Guards (Blues) on 8 November 1872. It transpired that Dale had been recognised by an officer of the Horse Guards while playing in Scotland. Sergeant Strange had been sent to make the arrest and located him in Leicester. He was remanded in custody by the magistrates until he could be transferred to a military prison for his court martial.

Over the following days and weeks after the arrest, the story emerged in the newspapers, which were eager to report on the sensation. So who was the man who had called himself Thomas Jordan?

Duncombe Park estate in Helmsley (Photo © Carol Rose [cc-by-sa/2.0])

Thomas Dale was born in Helmsley, Yorkshire (although his family listed his birthplace as Rievaulx, a village three miles north-west of Helmsley, next to the ruined Rievaulx Abbey), on 25 December 1847. He was the fourth child of Thomas Dale — listed on the 1851 and 1861 census as an agricultural labourer (although “herdsman” is crossed out on the latter) — and Ann Alenby. The Sunderland Daily Echo gave an account of his earlier years which said that his father was the chief herdsman (censuses from 1861 certainly list him as a herdsman) of the Earl of Faversham, whose extensive family home, Duncombe Park, was located in Helmsley. Although no official sources corroborate this, the census lists the family living at Griff Lodge, which was on the Duncombe Park estate, so it is highly probable that Dale’s father worked for the Earl.

Dale’s military record shows that he enlisted in the Horse Guards in December 1868. Among the details listed were that he was 6 feet and ½ inch tall, with a “fair” complexion, grey eyes and light brown hair. In the aftermath of his arrest, newspapers tried to fill in the background of his time in the military. The Sunderland Daily Echo reported that he “soon became a favourite amongst not only his comrades in the ranks, but the officers as well.” It also said that he excelled in sporting activities, taking part in athletic competitions for his regiment. According to the Hinkley News, Dale was a particularly keen cricketer, and played the Horse Guards against the Household Brigade. The Sunderland Daily Echo reported that Dale had deserted at least one previous time, before his disappearance, after he failed to return to barracks having taken part in a sporting event; it claimed that he soon surrendered himself and was briefly imprisoned.

However, Dale’s military record paints a less wholesome picture. He served only 324 days as a private before his first desertion in November 1869, when he was absent for just over a month. He rejoined his regiment and was sentenced to a week of confinement. The day after his release, he went absent without leave. During this time, he was involved in an incident which resulted in him being arrested for assault; he served just over two months in a civilian prison. After his release in March 1870, he returned to his regiment — perhaps through choice but more likely involuntarily — and was tried once again for desertion. This time, he was sentenced to four months in a military prison.  From July 1870 until November 1872, he appears to have served without incident before the final desertion from Windsor Cavalry Barracks on or around 8 November, after which he fled to the United States.

What happened next can be pieced together from stories that later emerged in the Canadian press. An apparently syndicated article published in Detroit in mid-June 1880 contained details of interviews with members of the Peninsular Cricket Club from that city. They said that Tom Dale had arrived in New Orleans in 1872. This can be corroborated independently because he was certainly in Mississippi, where he married an English woman called Rebecca Small, in 1873. The couple had one son but soon divorced (although there is no record of this). And it appears that Dale headed north from New Orleans because the members of the Peninsular Club believed that soon after his arrival, he found work with the mounted police in St Louis. The suggestion that he worked in some kind of law enforcement capacity was echoed by a report — perhaps copied from the Detroit source — in an English newspaper called The World, which indicated that he had operated close to the Mexican border.

A book called The Tented Field: A History of Cricket in America (1998) by Tom Melville includes a few more details, taken from newspapers, about Dale’s life at this time. According to Melville, Dale played professionally for cricket clubs in St Louis and Chicago; he also was given the nickname “Jumbo” because of his size. If we can believe the sources at the Peninsular Club, Dale moved to Canada soon after this; the Detroit article explained that he “had the temerity” to work as a professional for the British officers’ cricket team in Halifax, Nova Scotia. The World went a little further, stating that Dale had been “informally identified” in Canada when he was working as a professional bowler for the Halifax garrison, but “the interests of good cricket had been allowed to prevail over the strict claims of military law, and so he had remained a free man”. However, this might have been a creative reinterpretation of what the members of the Peninsular Club had told the press.

How reliable the sources from the Peninsular Club might have been, they were on more solid ground with the information that in 1876, he moved back across the border to live in Toledo, Ohio, a city around 60 miles from Detroit. And according to their version, in 1877 he accepted a position as a professional cricketer at the Peninsular Club. Possibly their chronology is a little muddled because we know that Dale was married in Toledo in 1878, to a native of that city called Mary Ann Herr. Perhaps he only returned for the wedding.

The 1880 United States census lists Dale and his wife living in Wayne, which was part of Detroit, Michigan. By then, the couple already had two children. However, he gave his occupation as a “truckman”, suggesting that reports that cricket was not his main source of income. Nevertheless, we know that he played for several cricket clubs in this period. CricketArchive records some of appearances for the Peninsular Club, including games against the Australian team that had toured England in 1878 (which travelled home via the United States) and Richard Daft’s team the following year. And the members of the Peninsular Club told journalists that at the time of his arrest, Dale was living with his wife and children in the “Keeper’s House” at the cricket ground.

Clearly, Dale must have been a successful cricketer. There are also indications from the press reports after his arrest that he had played for Canadian clubs, which might account for his invitation to join the tour of England in 1880. For whatever reason, he accepted. By any measure, it seems a strange and unnecessarily reckless decision, particularly if he had indeed been recognised in Halifax. If he hoped that by changing his name, he would avoid detection, he had not reckoned with the determination with which the British army pursued deserters. What made the decision even more baffling was that, according to the article in The World, Dale had been a well-known cricket figure before his desertion, and was easily recognisable on the field owing to his unique bowling action. Therefore it had been an incredible risk (“thrusting his dead into the lion’s mouth” as The World phrased it) to return to England.

When he was indeed recognised while playing in Scotland, it was inevitable that Dale would be arrested. But one syndicated newspaper article published in the United States in mid-June 1880 offered an alternative explanation for his identification. It suggested that Dale had left an English wife when he fled to the United States. According to the article, she had pursued him across the ocean and had him arrested for bigamy following his American marriage. This avenging wife accepted money to divorce him and promised not to reveal his presence to the authorities, but went back on her word and passed on the information that led to his arrest. However, this appears to have been a purely dramatic invention; Dale never married in England (although his first wife was English) and no other contemporary article mentions the involvement of any angry wife. There is no evidence one way or another to indicate whether Dale’s marriage to Herr was bigamous. Yet modern writers have accepted this explanation and indicate that an angry wife reported Dale to the authorities. While not impossible, it seems unlikely.

After Dale had been uncovered and arrested, he spent a few days imprisoned in Leicester before the military authorities arrived. The Leicester Journal reported that, on 8 June: “A party from the 2nd Royal Horse Guards (Blues) arrived in Leicester from London to escort the Canadian cricketer, Dale, back to his regiment, to be tried by court martial. There was a large number of people at the gaol to witness the departure. A cab was used to convey the party to the station, and drove away amidst cheers from the spectators, the cricketer bowing in return.” Ironically, there might have been more people to watch Dale being taken away than watched any of the Canadian team’s games of cricket.

Knightsbridge Barracks as it would have looked in 1880

The only account of what happened next appeared in the Sportsman on 21 June, sourced from a “correspondent” and widely reprinted over the following weeks. Dale’s court martial was held at Knightsbridge and he was sentenced to 36 days in prison. But while in the guard room, he managed to escape until he was recaptured by a civilian. Therefore, another court martial was held immediately and another 300 days added to his sentence. Not every newspaper unquestioningly accepted this tale; for example the Liverpool Albion expressed doubts and suggested that if the tale was true, the officer in charge of the court martial deserved the strongest criticism as the second sentence was vindictive. And his military record tells a slightly different, more likely story: when he was tried after his arrest at Leicester, there is no indication of any attempted escape after sentencing. Instead, his sentence was for exactly 11 months (which amounted to the 336 days reported). Nor would 36 days have been a realistic sentence for someone who had previously already served over two months for desertion. The 1881 census records Dale as an inmate at Millbank, at that time operating as a military prison, with an occupation of “soldier and carman”. He was, curiously, listed as unmarried. Upon his release on 16 May 1881, he was discharged from the Royal Horse Guards; his record listed his “character on being discharged” as “bad” owing to his desertion and civilian sentencing. The cause was listed as “his incorrigible and worthless conduct”. His total service amounted to just three years and 117 days.

With that, Tom Dale disappeared from the newspapers. But he can be traced over the following years through his cricket and through official records, because he returned to live in the United States for the rest of his life. He and his second wife continued to live together, and had more children — nine in total — of whom at least four were born after his release from prison. Dale also resumed playing cricket; he appeared for various teams between 1882 and 1895, including Detroit and Chicago, and made a single first-class appearance when he represented the United States against the Gentlemen of Philadelphia in 1883. According to local obituaries, he also coached the Detroit Athletic Club and was a good swordsman and boxer. The Peninsular Club gave him a benefit in 1883.

By the time of the 1900 census, he and his family were living in another part of Wayne. Dale was listed as a “mailbox repairman”. But the marriage was not a happy one by this stage. His wife began divorce proceedings against him for cruelty in 1904, and the divorce was granted in 1906. No further details are available but between his repeated desertions and his imprisonment for assault in 1869, this divorce is hardly indicative of a sympathetic character. Dale remarried almost immediately. His third wife, Catherine Ashley, was a Canadian thirty years younger than Dale; the wedding took place in Prince Edward, Ontario, but it is unclear whether Dale was living in Canada or went there only for the marriage. By the time of the 1910 United States census, he and his wife had returned to Wayne; Dale was working for the Post Office as a repairman and the couple had a child. A second soon followed — Dale’s eleventh. The 1920 census records the 73-year-old Dale working as a Post Office clerk. He died in February 1921: his cause of death given as senility and he was listed on the death certificate as a master mechanic. He was survived by all of his wives.

Dale’s story is a strange one, and largely inexplicable given how little information survives. Was he a rogue who tried to be too clever? Was he a man whose love of cricket drove him to recklessness? Tempting as it is to imagine this scenario, it is more likely that something else lay behind not only his ill-fated homecoming in 1880, and his odd and convoluted route through the United States and Canada between 1872 and 1880. Unless more sources can be found, the full story will never be truly understood.

The Bigamist and the Thief: The Tales of Two Cricketers

Professional cricketers were most often used as net bowlers for members of cricket clubs such as the MCC (Image: Practising in the Nets at Lord’s by Arthur Hopkins, The Graphic, 28 July 1894)

In the last quarter of the nineteenth century, as cricket’s popularity exploded in England, a surprisingly large number of people found professional employment in the sport. The most talented were snapped up by the first-class counties for their teams, played at the top level and sometimes became famous; others were taken onto the county groundstaff where they fulfilled a more mundane role that nevertheless paid relatively well. Similarly, the Marylebone Cricket Club employed professionals to take care of Lord’s Cricket Ground, to bowl to its privileged members or to make up the numbers in the teams it sent to play huge numbers of fixtures around England. Many of these “lesser” professionals played first-class cricket, even if they never achieved any great success. Yet this was only one slice of the world of professional cricket at the time. Many local clubs around Britain paid professionals to play for their team; schools employed professional coaches; even some wealthy individuals engaged professionals for private instruction. As a result, it was possible to earn a living through playing cricket even for those well short of county standard, and some professionals became local celebrities, especially when playing for league clubs.

But at this lower level, most professionals were anonymous and the stories of those who never reached first-class cricket are generally lost to us. The exceptions usually involve those who found themselves in some kind of trouble. Two such examples are two men about whose cricket we know nothing; the only evidence that they played the game professionally comes from their census returns and the accounts of their lives that they gave when they appeared in court when their mistakes caught up with them. Both men were roughly the same age but had very different stories that only briefly touched on cricket. Nevertheless, they can tell us a little bit more about what it might have been like to be a struggling Victorian professional who never quite made it in the sport of their choice.

The signatures of Herbert Hopewell (from his enlistment papers in 1915) and James William Hill (from his marriage certificate in 1884)

Our first player was a man called Herbert Hopewell, born at Cotgrave, Nottinghamshire, in 1865. He was the seventh of nine children of Thomas Hopewell, an agricultural labourer, and Anne Boulton, who was a servant before her marriage. When Hopewell was baptised in July 1865, two of his sisters were also baptised at the same time. Perhaps having such a large family caused his parents some financial difficulties because by the time of the 1871 census, Hopewell was not living with his parents; instead he lived with his second cousin, a 46-year-old railway porter called Thomas Peel, who had three daughters over the age of seventeen but no children Hopewell’s age. When we next encounter Hopewell, on the 1881 census, he was sixteen years old and working as a footman for a widowed 66-year-old called Elizabeth Becher, who employed five other live-in servants.

Before long, Hopewell had entered the profession which he followed for most of his life. By June 1883, he was working as a tram conductor in Nottingham. We know this because he appeared in court that month, claiming that a man called Arthur Thompson, who had been arguing with the tram driver, had struck him when Hopewell — the conductor of the tram — had challenged him over his behaviour. The case, however, was dismissed. On 13 August that year, Hopewell married a woman called Elizabeth Southern at Basford registry office. He gave his occupation as “tram car conductor”. She was working as a domestic servant; her father was listed as a “cow keeper” on the marriage certificate but he was working as a “cottager” (someone responsible for a small plot of land containing a cottage).

The marriage was one of urgent necessity rather than romance; less than a month after the wedding, Elizabeth gave birth to the couple’s only child, a daughter called Annie Mary Hopewell. From what followed, it is clear that Hopewell had entered the marriage reluctantly. They first lived in Woodborough, where Elizabeth was from, and soon moved to Nottingham, but the relationship did not last. The story emerged in 1896 when she divorced him.

In February 1884, Elizabeth — who later said that she had been very ill, but who was just as likely to have been seeking respite from an unhappy situation — went to stay with her parents in Woodborough for a few days, and was seen off from the railway station by Hopewell. When she returned to Nottingham, she discovered that Hopewell had gone, having sold all their furniture. She returned to her parents and did not see him again until accidentally meeting him at Nottingham Goose Fair in October 1885. He told her that he had been living in Manchester, and asked for her forgiveness. He said that she should join him in Manchester; she agreed and they lived together in Manchester for two weeks until Hopewell suggested that she should live with her parents while he saved up to buy them a new home. She did so, but later discovered that he had enlisted in the King’s Own Lancaster Regiment, using the name Herbert Boulton (his mother’s surname). He remained in contact with Elizabeth and periodically suggested that they should meet in Nottingham, and he stayed there for a time while on leave.

And then his employment changed again; he wrote to tell her that he had been employed as a butler to “a lady in Dublin” and planned to emigrate to the United States. When they later met in Nottingham in 1891, Hopewell told her that he had no intention of living with her anymore: he had “got another” and suggested that “you can get one too”. At this stage, she discovered he was living with his brother at Hyson Green (a fact corroborated on the 1891 census); she once again met him, and there was “a stormy interview” before he again told her he would not live with her. The reason, as she later discovered, was that while still using the name Boulton, he had bigamously married a woman called Bertha Denial in Sheffield on 24 December 1892.

An undated image of Reginald Street in Sheffield; after his bigamous marriage, Hopewell lived with Bertha Denial in a court off Reginald Street, under the name Boulton

Elizabeth learned of this marriage in 1896, and of Hopewell’s new life and family in Sheffield, and filed for divorce. Hopewell did not contest it, and Bertha Denial even appeared in court to corroborate the fact of his bigamous marriage. Elizabeth was granted the divorce, and custody of their child. Not long after this, she remarried and emigrated to the United States with her daughter and her new husband.

During this period, Hopewell had held several jobs, and one of these was that of a professional cricketer. The 1891 census — at the time of which he lived with his brother, listed him as such and his employment was also discussed during the divorce. The court was told that he had been a professional cricketer “at the Trent Bridge ground” in Nottingham for a period around 1892. However, there is no record at Nottinghamshire of Hopewell ever being employed by the county; it is more likely that he was working as a professional at another local club. Although there are no obvious newspaper records of him playing cricket locally (there are a few possible traces, but nothing definite), there would have been no reason for him to lie about his occupation, either on the census or in court. And having such a job also increased the publicity around his divorce; local newspapers reported “A Professional Cricketer in the Divorce Courts”. It is also possible that he played professionally in Sheffield, but by the time of his sham marriage to Bertha Denial, he was working as a stoker, which implies that he was perhaps employed on the railway: a stoker was responsible for keeping steam engines fired.

Hopewell seems to have turned his life around after the divorce. He continued to live with Bertha Denial — with whom he had a daughter born in 1894 — and they married legally in 1901 and had two more children, both sons. But they moved to Lancashire. The 1901 census listed the family in Chorlton (near Manchester), and Hopewell was working as a tram driver. He had the same job on the 1911 census, by which time the family had moved to Bury where they lived for the rest of Hopewell’s life. During the First World War, he enlisted — at the age of 49 — in the 4th Lancashire Fusiliers, but poor eyesight prevented him from serving abroad. When the war ended, he began working as a stores keeper for the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway. Hopewell died in Bury in 1937; his wife remarried later that year and died in Manchester in 1953.

It is not quite certain what we should make of Hopewell. He treated his first wife very poorly, although he never seems to have been cruel: the divorce papers limit the complaints to bigamy and desertion. His desperate flight to various parts of Britain and Ireland — and the adoption of an alias — to avoid his responsibilities reflect poorly on him. It is possible that cricket — along with his supposed career in the army, as a butler and as a stoker — was just one of many ways of earning money while he, in effect, hid from his wife. Once he had been divorced, he returned to his main career — working on trams. Yet that a man who can hardly have been a dedicated cricketer could briefly earn a living from the game demonstrates that opportunities existed.

For our second professional cricketer, the sport was more than just an escape route; he seems to have had a fairly long career, comprising at least two spells of employment. But unlike Hopewell, he never quite found a way out of his problems. James William Hill was born in Milford Haven, Wales, around 1859. He was the fourth and youngest child of Richard Hunt Hill, who had worked most of his life as a seaman in the Royal Navy, and Hannah Pierce (whose father was also in the navy). Hill’s family were from Dorset but lived in Wales at the time of his birth, probably for reasons connected to his father’s role in the Navy. At the time of the 1861 census, Richard Hunt Hill was the Acting Chief Bosun’s Mate on the HMS Blenheim, based in Holyhead; at that time, he had recently transferred to the Customs Service, with which the Blenheim was associated.

There are some curiosities about the family, however. In 1844, around a year after Richard Hill married Hannah, they had a daughter called Maria. Their second child, Elizabeth, was born in 1848. Yet when the 1851 census was taken, Elizabeth lived with her maternal grandparents while Hannah and Maria were visitors at the house of John White — another sailor, who was away from home at the time — and his wife Maria. By the time of the 1861 census, Maria Hill was listed as the adopted daughter of Maria White (although later censuses listed her as a visitor at the house). No obvious explanation can be found for this unusual arrangement, nor why Elizabeth was not with her mother.

By the time of the 1871 census, Richard Hill’s ten year engagement with the Royal Navy’s Customs Service had recently ended; the family relocated to London, where Hill senior later worked as a custom’s officer. James was at school, and there were also two female lodgers in the house, located at South Bank in Marylebone, which might be an indication of some degree of financial difficulty. After this point, it is hard to tell exactly what happened to James William Hill, but it appears that life did not go too well. At first, he might have attempted to follow his father into the Navy; in 1879, a man called James William Hill, an ordinary seaman, was sentenced to twelve months imprisonment for disobedience after a court martial at Portsmouth. However, that might have been someone else entirely because we know that around this time he began to play cricket professionally.

The 1881 census records Hill as a lodger in Marylebone, listed as a “painter”, but that August he began work as a porter for the Metropolitan Railway; his previous employment was listed as a “professional bowler” with the Marylebone Cricket Club at Lord’s Cricket Ground. In other words, he must have been a member of the Lord’s Groundstaff. To be employed by the MCC — probably as a net bowler and groundsman — offered a degree of financial security for a professional, and such positions were coveted. But he would have been some way down the pecking order, probably one of the so-called “second-class” professionals who played only when there were no alternatives. There might be a record of one game in this period in which he appeared: in July 1880, the MCC played the Royal Engineering College at Staines, and the number eleven in the MCC’s order — who neither batted nor bowled — was a man called Hill. If this was our man, he had some good team-mates: the Nottinghamshire professionals (and future Test cricketers) Wilfred Flowers and Mordecai Sherwin were also playing for the MCC.

Perhaps Hill planned to continue with the MCC, and the position with the Metropolitan Railway was intended to be a winter job — an occupational necessity for all professional cricketers in this period — but it did not quite work out. In October, he was arrested (under the name James William Hills) for stealing clothing and sentenced to a month’s imprisonment. If Hill needed to steal clothes, he must have been badly struggling; he was hardly targeting luxury items. As he was also unable to attend his job, he was dismissed for being absent without leave. There is no indication that he returned to his position with the MCC. After this, we lose track of Hill until January 1883, when he found employment as a porter at Child’s Hill railway station, where he worked until being discharged (the records do not explain why) in mid-July.

In October 1884, Hill married Elizabeth White Draper, a piano teacher and the daughter of a smith, whose family — like Hill’s — originated from Dorset but then lived in London. There is no obvious later trace of her, and certainly she did not live with Hill by the time of the 1891 census (although he still listed himself as married). There is some evidence that she later remarried and possibly moved abroad, but it is hard to be certain. On the marriage certificate, Hill was listed as a “gaoler” but there is no evidence of which, if any, prison at which he might have worked.

There is a possibility that he returned to cricket after this; there were two matches played by the MCC — in 1887 and 1888 — in which someone called J. Hill appeared. The two teams were very much “second string” sides, playing against local club sides while more prestigious MCC elevens faced schools. There is no record of these games apart from a bare scorecard on CricketArchive, so it is impossible to know if this was our Hill. However, he certainly resumed his career at some point as the 1891 census describes his occupation as “professional cricketer”.

Troopers from the Royal Horse Guards in Whitehall, around 1910 (Image: Wikipedia)

Our next trace comes in October 1888 when Hill successfully applied to join the Royal Horse Guards. He told several lies in his application: that he was unmarried, that he had been born in 1865; he also said that he had not lived away from home for more than three years, which seems unlikely. He listed his employment as a “professional cricketer”. He agreed to serve in the army for twelve years. His records listed his height as a quarter of an inch less than 6 feet, with light brown hair and grey eyes. However, he was discharged after just one year and 20 days; no reason was given on the record. However, it noted that while in the army, he contracted “chronic pneumonic phthisis”, better known today as tuberculosis. Something about this is not quite right; his subsequent activities indicate that he was hardly seriously ill at that time, and although it is not possible to trace his death, he was still living in 1901.

Whatever else was going on with his life, by the time of the 1891 census (taken on 5 April), he was living back with his parents and his sister (Elizabeth, who was working as a manageress at a dressmaker). His cricket career had apparently ended as someone had added the “ex” in front of his occupation as “professional cricketer”, but that could have been connected with what happened next. Later in the month, Hills was arrested and charged with theft. He had stolen a garden roller from a lawn tennis club in Dulwich, and with stealing (amongst other items) two cricket bats and a bag from Lloyd’s Cricket Club in Honor Oak. At the time of his arrest, he told the court that he was a professional cricketer, and it is tempting to wonder if the theft was connected to struggles in equipping himself for his job. His solicitor told the court that Hill was “very respectable connected, and … hitherto he had borne a most excellent character”, but he was sentenced to two month’s hard labour.

This seems to have been a turning point for Hill, because he spent the next decade in and out of prison for petty theft that, as was common at the time, was heavily punished. At some point, he lived in Blackpool where he was sentenced to six weeks for stealing a blanket in November 1894. Matters soon escalated from stealing the purely essential. In November 1897, he was imprisoned for six months for the theft of a bicycle in London; in July 1898 he was sentenced to eight months, with hard labour, for stealing a watch and chain from William Charles Peach, and stealing a cricket ball and two bails from Walter Guppy.

By this stage, he had a record as a “habitual criminal” which recorded details about him: his date (which was inaccurately recorded as 1864 or 1865) and place of birth (which was correct), his aliases (John Hill, James William Hills), a brief description, and details of some tattoos. Of the latter, two dots were probably marks of his time in prison but more revealingly he had a tattoo of a man holding a cricket bat on his right forearm; the sport must have meant a great deal to him. But by the time of his 1897 arrest, he was working as a cook and in 1898 he worked as a stoker.

Wandsworth Prison photographed in 2008

In 1900, Hill was sentenced to 14 months for another theft; the 1901 census listed him as a prisoner at Wandsworth, and his occupation remained a stoker. when released he went to sea as a stoker (although he was also supposed to have done this after his previous release). After that, there is no further obvious trace of him. There are several possible death records — including a James William Hill who died at St Pancras in 1902 — but nothing definitive. His mother died in 1895 and his father in 1902.

Unlike Hopewell, Hill had an apparently lengthy career as a professional cricketer and seems to have been invested in the game — particularly bearing in mind his tattoo and the cricket-related nature of some of his thefts. But from the 1890s, whether from necessity or because it had become his preferred source of income, he took part in an increasing number of thefts; and it seems a fair assumption that he stole on many other occasions when he was not caught. Whether he died — perhaps from tuberculosis — soon after his final release from prison or did indeed go to sea, his fate is a mystery. So are many aspects of his life because, like Hopewell, he was not the sort of person whom the authorities would have wanted to be associated with the supposedly noble game of cricket.

And yet, for all the trumpeting of amateur virtues, for all the prestige surrounding Eton v Harrow or Oxford v Cambridge, late-Victorian cricket was just as much about men like Hopewell and Hill as it was about glamorous stars such as W. G. Grace, Ranjitsinhji or Stanley Jackson. It was still an unregulated world of opportunity, and a lifeline for those whose lives involved struggle and hardship, even if that escape was, for many, only temporary.

“Outspoken and Independent”: The Quaifes of Warwickshire

William Quaife in 1905 (Image: Wikipedia)

Walter Quaife in 1900 (Image: WIkipedia)

There have been several notable cricketing families, from the Graces to the Currans. Far less heralded — except perhaps among historically-minded Warwickshire fans — is the Quaife family. The most successful member was William — most recognised as “W. G. Quaife”, listed on modern databases such as CricketArchive as “Willie Quaife”, but known to his team-mates as “Billy Quaife” — who had an incredibly long career spanning 34 years at first-class level. But while very successful, he was not a batter to raise the pulse; more attractive to the public, but far less consistent, was his brother Walter, while his son Bernard was one of many cricketers who failed to match a more famous father. But the Quaife family was even more interesting off the field. William and Walter were professionals, but not the typical deferential types usually found in this period of English cricket. Not only were they prepared to stand up for themselves, they were prepared to defy convention, including the way they came to play for Warwickshire in the first place.

William George Quaife, the most famous family member, was a cricketer of great solidity for Warwickshire between 1893 and 1928. A defensive batter by nature, albeit a stylish one, he had some impressive figures. He scored 33,862 first-class runs for Warwickshire (the second highest behind Dennis Amiss). In all first-class cricket, he had 36,012 runs at an average of 35.37. With the ball, he took 900 first-class wickets for Warwickshire (the ninth best), while in all first-class cricket he had 931 at 27.32. He scored 72 first-class centuries, including four doubles, and 25 times reached a thousand runs in a season. He ended his first-class career in 1928 with a century on his final appearance at the age of 56; he remains the second-oldest man to have appeared in the County Championship (at 56 years and 143 days on the last day of the game), after Reginald Moss, who was 57 when he played in 1925. And he remains by some distance the oldest first-class centurion; in fact, he appears four times in the “top-ten” list of oldest century makers.

W. G. Quaife (Image: Cricket, 17 July 1902)

Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of his career, other than its length, was his consistency. He made his first-class debut in 1894, and three fifties was respectable for a first season at the age of 22; the following year — Warwickshire’s first in the County Championship — he averaged just under 24. In 1896, he scored his maiden century, passed 1,000 runs in a season for the first time, and never looked back. The only subsequent season before the First World War in which he did not reach a four-figure aggregate was 1907, when Warwickshire only played 20 matches; he still averaged in the 30s. His best season was 1898, when he averaged over 60, but he averaged 47 in 1900 and over fifty in 1901, 1904 and 1905. After the war, he continued his habit of passing a thousand runs, only failing to do so in 1919 (when Warwickshire again played less), 1924 (his only real season of failure: he managed 803 runs at an average just under 22) and 1927, his last full season. But if his average dipped in the 1920s compared to his best years, he remained the most dependable batter on the Warwickshire team for most of the decade until the emergence of Bob Wyatt. The latter got on very well with Quaife and remembered: “A very short, neat little player with perfect footwork … He was a bit on the slow side because he lacked reach but he was the perfect model for a boy to watch. Fantastically fit he was still playing hockey for the county, and after fielding at Edgbaston all day he would go home and play a couple of sets of tennis.”

Quaife was involved in the “Throwing Question” when his name appeared on a list of those with suspect bowling actions in December 1900. This was the culmination of several years of dissatisfaction with bowlers who appeared to throw the ball; the county captains, in a final attempt to stamp out dubious bowlers, produced a list of those who they suggested should not be allowed to bowl (although the MCC eventually decided not to impose any bans). Quaife spoke to Cricket in 1902, and addressed his inclusion on the list:

“I had never been no-balled by an umpire, and had never heard any suggestions that I threw, but when I was told what had been done, I went carefully into the matter. I came to the conclusion, that when I tried to put on a spin from the off, my action was occasionally something in the nature of a throw, although it was not quite a throw. You will find very few bowlers with an off-break whose action does not, every now and then, suggest a throw, although it really isn’t a throw. But I went in for leg-breaks, and last year did better than I had ever done before.”

Until then, he had bowled medium-paced off-breaks, but after switching to leg-spin bowled for the rest of his career without any issues. Most of the time, he was largely a back-up bowler and he did not take fifty first-class wickets in any season before the First World War. But in the 1920s, in a weak Warwickshire team, he took on a much bigger bowling workload and passed fifty wickets six times between 1920 and 1927. In fact, his bowling record after the war (455 wickets in eight full seasons at 26.95) was better than before it (476 wickets in 22 full seasons at 27.68).

Quaife played seven Tests for England, two during the 1899 Ashes series and five times on Archie MacLaren’s Australian tour of 1901–02. He probably deserved more chances with England than he received but was unfortunate in playing for an unfashionable county at a time of great batting depth in England. He could not expect to displace an amateur from the England team, and there were other professionals who were equally good or better. Possibly he was hampered by his defensive style — when he was named as a Wisden Cricketer of the Year in 1902, the citation criticised him for being too conscious of his batting average — and a perception that he was not tall enough (he was either 5 ft 3 in or 5ft 4 in according to his son) to succeed at the top level (a prejudice against shorter players that has long since been dispelled). These reservations might also explain why he only played twice (in 1900 and 1913) for the Players against the Gentlemen at Lord’s; he played ten times in the equivalent match at the Oval but this was a far less prestigious fixture, and he was not selected after 1913.

Another unusual feature of Quaife’s career is that he appeared in 48 first-class matches alongside his son Bernard, who played as an amateur while his father was a professional. Such differences across generations were unusual, but not unprecedented (a similar example at Warwickshire was that of Sydney and Reginald Santall, a professional father and amateur son, although they never played together and the latter eventually turned professional). However, when William and Bernard played together, their difference in status led to some oddities dictated by the conventions of the period. Father and son changed in separate dressing rooms and entered the field through different gates. On one occasion, in 1922, when Warwickshire played Derbyshire at Derby, each side had a father and son on its team: the Quaifes faced Derbyshire’s Billy and Robert Bestwick (the only other time this has happened in first-class cricket seems to have been when Patiala played the Australians in 1936; in this case, the Maharajah of Patiala played for the Australians against his son the Yuvraj of Patiala and the Patiala team contained both Frank and Louis Tarrant). At one point, the Bestwicks were batting together while the Quaifes bowled from either end.

R. V. Ryder, Warwickshire’s secretary from 1895 to 1944
(Image: Birmingham Mail)

Quaife senior was also something of a mentor to Bob Wyatt, who was friendly with his son (and all three men played hockey for the same club in Birmingham). Wyatt was rebuked once by R. V. Ryder, the Warwickshire secretary, for being too close to Quaife. Ryder did not like Quaife, despite his value to the team. As Gerald Pawle states in his 1985 biography of Wyatt: “[Quaife] and Tiger Smith, another outspoken and independent figure, were regarded by Ryder as the shop stewards for the team, continually airing grievances about pay and conditions, and they fought a never ending battle with the Secretary, who was equally determined to keep them in their place. This he found particularly difficult in the case of Quaife who owned a successful sports shop and financially at least could afford to risk Ryder’s displeasure.” This understates the matter somewhat; Quaife fought the Committee for better wages from the start and it was only through his persistence that Warwickshire switched from one-year contracts to award him (and other leading professionals at the club) a five-year deal at the end of the 1890s.

Quaife’s frequent clashes with the Committee lay behind that farewell century in 1928; Ryder had rejected his request for a contract extension after the 1927 season, and it was only after some negotiation — and an argument between the Committee and Warwickshire members that spilled into the press — that it was agreed he could make a “farewell” appearance in the August Bank Holiday match against Derbyshire. He took the opportunity to score 115 and bowl 34 overs. The “official” version is that he therefore begun and ended his Warwickshire career with a century, as he hit 102 on his debut in a non-first-class game against Durham, but CricketArchive rather spoils the legend by listing earlier games for Quaife in the Warwickshire team.

Quaife had two benefit matches, in 1911 and 1927, but even in combination they only raised £1,317, a fraction of what a player at a bigger county could manage. In retirement he continued to run his sports shop, manufacturing cricket bats and keeping an eye on cricket, often watching his old county play at Edgbaston.

But this man with such a long and productive career with Warwickshire was actually born in Sussex, and he played for that county in a non-first-class match in 1891. How did he come to play for Warwickshire at all? His Wisden obituary is silent, but his citation as a Cricketer of the Year is a little more revealing: “Born in Sussex, it was only by an accident that [Quaife] was never associated as a cricketer with his native county. When, following the season of 1890, his brother Walter ceased to play for Sussex and threw in his lot with Warwickshire, he also after a time went to live in Birmingham, and in due course found his way into the Warwickshire eleven.” These two sentences brush over a messy dispute between two counties. Quaife played for Warwickshire because of his older brother Walter.

At this point, we should take a step back. Walter (born 1864) and William George (born 1872) — and their sisters Elizabeth (both 1865) and Mary (born 1867) — were born in Newhaven, the children of Walter Cornelius Quaife. Their father was a watchmaker from Battle in Sussex who had originally been a miller; in the 1890s, he was also the Sanitary Inspector for Newhaven. Walter Quaife junior was originally a watchmaker alongside his father but by the time of the 1891 census, he was a professional cricketer; William was listed a watchmaker in 1891, although in later years he said that he was working at a solicitor’s office when he joined Warwickshire.

As for Walter, he began to play for Sussex in 1884. After three quiet seasons, he scored his first century in 1887, totalling over 900 runs at an average of thirty. Two less productive seasons followed, but in 1890 he scored nearly 800 runs at an average of 22. His Wisden obituary stated: “In this most disastrous season for Sussex — eleven of twelve championship engagements ending in defeat — he headed the batting averages.” Such was his form that he was selected for the Gentlemen v Players match at the Oval in 1889 and at Lord’s in 1890. Therefore, he was a valuable member of the team and a solid professional batter, even if he was hardly setting the cricket world alight. In total, he scored over 3,000 runs for Sussex. A Cricket profile in 1887 said that he was a very attractive all-round batter, whose play was “very pretty”, modelled after leading amateurs.

But he had his eyes elsewhere.

At the time, it was extremely difficult for a professional to change teams. This was dressed up in terms of loyalty and fairness but was essentially a way to keep professionals in their place. If they offended their social superiors, they could be dropped as punishment, and counties were discouraged from “poaching” talent. The attitude of the amateur establishment was perfectly demonstrated by the words of one county representative in the nineteenth century: “What would they think of any gentlemen who tried to bribe their private servants from their employment?” Players had to request permission to move, and even if this was forthcoming, they had to serve a two-year qualification period before representing their new team in county matches. Most professionals preferred to remain with their birth county. But although movement was very difficult, it was not impossible.

Walter Quaife in 1896 (Image: Wikipedia)

By 1891, the Sussex committee must have heard rumours that Walter Quaife planned to move counties and asked him outright if he was qualifying for Warwickshire. As his Wisden obituary put it, “he refused all information and was consequently dropped from the side”. There might have been a little more to the affair as well; Lord Sheffield, a patron of Sussex cricket, claimed in a letter to the Newhaven Cricket Club — of which he was President and Walter Quaife was a member — that he had paid for Quaife to receive coaching from Alfred Shaw over the previous two seasons. Sheffield grumbled that, had he known Quaife’s intention to leave Sussex, he would never have given him the money and believed that he had been misled by his professional. He threatened to resign as Newhaven President if Quaife remained a member of the club; the committee therefore requested Quaife’s resignation.

Quaife wrote a letter in his own defence — which appeared in newspapers — denying being disrespectful towards the Sussex Committee when they asked about his intentions. He observed that cricket had prevented him from working in his father’s business, and that Sussex had continually failed to find him winter work when he requested it. As he was therefore having to rely on his summer pay throughout the year, he wanted to “better his position” and had “offered his services” to Warwickshire instead. He claimed that his refusal to answer questions regarding his intentions was simply because doing so “would have cut off all chances of playing for Sussex”; a point made moot when he was dropped anyway.

To a modern audience, Quaife’s actions (and robust public self-defence) would be unremarkable, and even expected. But in 1891, this was extremely unusual. Professionals were supposed to be deferential, little more than hired hands. Attempts to stand up to the amateur authorities usually ended badly, such as the Nottinghamshire strike of 1881 or the England strike of 1896. Quaife was unusual in having the confidence to “offer his services” to other counties and to take on a man as influential as Lord Sheffield. That his brother William was also willing to take on the Warwickshire Secretary in later years might suggest a very confident family.

When Quaife moved to Warwickshire, he took William with him to live in Birmingham. William told a slightly different version in later years (for example in an article he wrote in 1951) which suggested that he had come to the attention of Warwickshire already, and been asked to play in a benefit match for one of their players so that the club could take a closer look. But it seems more likely that Walter was the driving force. In any case, the signing of the brothers left a sour taste in Sussex, and relations between that county and Warwickshire were less than harmonious for a time. In fact, Warwickshire were unpopular generally, for this “poaching” and for the general attitude of their Committee.

Having qualified for Warwickshire, Walter Quaife first appeared for the county, which had not yet been granted first-class status, in 1893. As their best-paid player (and one of only two to receive winter pay), he scored over 700 runs at an average of 31 and was a key factor in Warwickshire’s promotion to first-class status in 1894 and their debut appearance in the County Championship the following year. He passed a thousand first-class runs for the only time in 1895 — which earned him another game for the Players against the Gentlemen at the Oval — and returned solid figures, generally averaging between 25 and 30, until 1900. Between 1894 and 1901, he played alongside William in the Warwickshire team.

Embed from Getty Images

Warwickshire in 1898. Back row: A. Hide (umpire), Jack Devey, Henry Pallett, Sydney Santall, James Whitehead, Walter Quaife and Frank Barlow (umpire). Middle row: Richard Lilley, Herbert Bainbridge, Alfred Glover and Edwin Diver. Front row: William Quaife and Frank Hopkins.

Problems remained behind the scenes, however; he was briefly dropped in 1898 for a dispute with A. C. S. Glover, an amateur with the county, who had been Warwickshire’s acting-captain in a game against Gloucestershire at Cheltenham. Walter had refused to bowl and complained at being sent into bat 45 minutes before stumps on the second day; he again found himself having to deny being disrespectful, and was forced to write an apology. But this was not the only one of Walter Quaife’s adventures. He seems to have had a genius for causing problems and battling convention.

In 1892, during his qualification period for Warwickshire, Quaife had married Alice Birch, the daughter of a schoolmaster, in Islington (his address was still Newhaven, which raises a few questions about whether he had in reality qualified for Warwickshire). The following year, the first of their three children was born. But in August 1901, Alice filed for divorce, citing in her statement Quaife’s adultery with Augusta Lohmann, with whom she claimed he had been living since July. She also said that in November 1900, Quaife had struck and “grossly insulted” her, calling her a fool and an idiot. In May 1901, when Alice was pregnant with their third child, he tried to persuade her to have an (illegal) abortion, and was “abusive and unkind” when she refused; then in June, he “assaulted and beat” her, threatening to have her “put into confinement as a mad person”. He was also unsympathetic when she was suffering from ill-health during her pregnancy, “jeering” and laughing and saying it was her own fault. She claimed that as a result, her health had been “injured”. Her subsequent evidence stated that he had mocked her for “loving him too much”, told her that she should have “enjoyed herself with other men”, and said that he loved Augusta Lohmann, whom he “meant to have”. For a woman to be granted a divorce at the time required proof of adultery and a criminal offence such as cruelty or desertion; she seems to have had good evidence of all three.

This was something of a cricketing scandal, although not one that made any waves in the discreet cricketing press. Augusta Lohmann was the sister of the legendary England and Surrey cricketer George Lohmann, regarded by many at the time as the greatest of all bowlers; in 18 matches which are today classed as Tests, he took 112 wickets at 10.75. By his own evidence at the divorce hearing, Quaife had first met Augusta in 1888. Around this time, Lohmann and Quaife regularly played against each other, and sometimes together, such as when they represented the Players of the South against the Players of the North in 1887. As Keith Booth put it in his 2007 biography of Lohmann: “Then, as now, professional county cricketers were a tight-knit community, but then, unlike now, they were not accommodated in four and five star hotels during away matches and had usually to finance their board and lodgings from their match fee. It is likely that informal reciprocal accommodation arrangements existed and though it is impossible to say with any certainty, it is at least within the bounds of possibility that the future bride and groom, then aged 18 and 23 respectively, met in this way.” It may be relevant that George Lohmann was dying from tuberculosis in South Africa at the time that the relationship between his sister and Quaife resumed, and that his death in December 1901 coincided with the divorce case moving through the system.

When the case came to court in March 1902 at the Royal Court of Justice, Alice’s counsel explained how Quaife had been “corresponding” with Augusta Lohmann as early as 1893 but had broken it off despite admitting that he “thought a great deal of Miss Lohmann”; he had also formed the “acquaintance” of an unnamed woman in 1896, for which Alice had also forgiven him. But in 1899, he resumed his relationship with Lohmann, and wanted Alice to leave him; hence his annoyance when she became pregnant. In June 1901, he had left the house to be with Miss Lohmann.

Walter Quaife
(Image: Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News, 20 August 1898)

Quaife denied cruelty and violence, but admitted adultery, although he claimed, somewhat unconvincingly, that this had only been since he left his wife. He also said that he did not live happily with Alice, whom he called “irritable and highly hysterical”. But the judge found in her favour, granting a decree nisi with costs and custody of the children (although he did not accept the claim that Quaife tried to force an abortion as there was no corroboration). The divorce was made absolute at the end of March 1903. The costs to be paid by Quaife amounted to £120, and he had to pay £1 per week maintenance.

And possibly his actions finally affected his cricket because, having played just a few times for Warwickshire in 1901 (his last appearance came in July 1901), his first-class career was now over. Perhaps aware of what was to come, he had asked the Warwickshire Committee for a benefit match in 1902, but after delaying a decision, they decided not to re-engage him for the 1902 season. It is hard to imagine that his controversial behaviour and impending divorce played no part in their thinking. Although his form had been poor during his four appearances in 1901, his earlier successes would normally have guaranteed him another opportunity. By the end of March 1902, not only was Quaife out of work, he was faced with hefty legal bills and maintenance payments. This is probably the reason why he took up a job coaching at Woodbridge School in March 1903, and after a period of qualification, played for Suffolk between 1903 and 1905.

For all of Quaife’s denials, it seems that Alice was telling the truth because by mid-1902, both she and Augusta Lohmann had given birth to his children: in early 1902, shortly before the court case, Alice gave birth to Violet Joyce, her third child with Quaife; in April, Augusta Lohmann gave birth to a daughter who was registered under the name of Augusta Quaife. It would have been frowned upon in 1902 to have had two children with different women in the space of a few months. Even if this was not scandalous enough, Quaife continued to disregard convention because he did not marry Augusta when his divorce was finalised in March 1904; the wedding came only after their second daughter was born that August. Two more girls followed in 1909 and 1911. By the time of the 1911 census, Quaife was an “athletic outfitter”; he had gone into business with his brother William. Later, their establishment — which gave William the financial independence to stand up to R. V. Ryder — became Quaife and Lilley when the Warwickshire player Richard Lilley joined the firm. It survived until the 1960s when it was sold by Bernard Quaife.

Walter Quaife died in January 1943, less than a year after Augusta’s death. William Quaife lived until 1951, having seen Warwickshire win the 1951 County Championship; the only previous time they had done so, in 1911, Quaife had been in the team, but he regarded the 1951 combination as “the best-balanced ever to represent the county” according to his Wisden obituary. He was survived by Phyllis, whom he had married in 1898. Bernard, whose amateur status was possible through working at the family business, could not secure a regular place in the Warwickshire team and so moved to Worcestershire. He made himself into a competent wicket-keeper for the county and was the stand-in captain for most of 1937, which was his final season. After his death in 1984, his Wisden obituary stated that Quaife “did yeoman service for ten seasons [for Worcestershire] during which they were gradually working their way up from the bottom of the table. Twice he scored 1,000 runs. Usually he got some 900 by solid and consistent rather than brilliant batting.” If he was a respected cricketer, he never matched the controversy off the field which pursued his father and uncle; perhaps the fact pleased him, even if he was not following in the fiery family tradition.

“I think he’s an absolute shit”: The Private Life of Wally Hammond

Wally Hammond in 1930 (Image: Wikipedia)

Of all the men to captain the England cricket team, few have been such complex figures as Wally Hammond. He has fascinated cricket followers since he first batted for Gloucestershire in the 1920s; even today, he is one of the few names from the past who is unquestioningly classed as a great batter. His average is among the highest of all time in Test cricket, and memories of his glorious off-side shots echo even now. No-one who had played alongside or against Hammond could resist talking about him (or writing about him), and he was the batting hero of many team-mates and spectators. Furthermore, he has been the subject of three biographies: by Ronald Mason in 1962, by Gerald Howat in 1984 and, most influentially by David Foot in 1996. The latter book is based on years of conversations with Hammond’s former team-mates in the Gloucestershire and England teams. But — and with Hammond there always seems to be a caveat — he was a solitary figure in the dressing room: admired as a cricketer but often disliked, and sometimes even despised, as a person. His personal life was messy and he had a (probably deserved) reputation among team-mates for promiscuity. He was also known to be a social climber, culminating into his manufactured ascent to the England captaincy in 1938. Why was there such a contrast between Hammond the cricketer and Hammond the person?

The story is fairly straightforward at face value, and quite well-known. Walter Reginald Hammond was the son of of William Hammond — a corporal in the Royal Garrison Artillery at Dover Castle — and Marion Crisp, but the date of his parents’ marriage, just six months before his birth in June 1903, suggest a somewhat enforced arrangement. Hammond’s early years were spent overseas as his father was posted to Hong Kong and Malta. They returned to England before the First World War, and Hammond was sent to boarding school. His father was killed fighting in France in 1918, and his mother appears to have been emotionally distant from her son. She was also, from all accounts of those who knew Hammond, a terrible snob and this may have rubbed off on her only child.

Hammond’s reputation as a school cricketer was good enough to interest Gloucestershire, and having played three games as an amateur in 1920, just after he left Cirencester Grammar School (having attended Portsmouth Grammar School for a time), he signed as a professional for the 1921 season. His first seasons were a challenge: he failed abysmally in his only two appearances in 1921, overwhelmed by the pace bowling of the touring Australian team, and an inconclusive start in 1922 was curtailed when the influential Lord Harris noticed his Kent birthplace and challenged his qualification for Gloucestershire under the County Championship rules in place at the time. He spent most of the 1921 and 1922 seasons working as an assistant coach under the former Yorkshire batsman John Tunnicliffe at Clifton College and playing football intermittently for Bristol Rovers. But once officially qualified for Gloucestershire, he began to make progress, with a century on his first appearance in 1923 and over a thousand runs in that first full season. His record over the next two years was unspectacular but clearly heading on an upward trajectory; critics purred at his technique and potential, while his bowling suggested an all-rounder in the making. And sometimes, he produced something very special indeed: 174 not out on a terrible pitch against Middlesex after Gloucestershire had been bowled out for 31 in their first innings; 250 not out in 1925 against a Lancashire attack including the Australian fast bowler Ted McDonald, whom he repeatedly hooked for four or six when he pitched short.

The next stage in his development was his selection for a strong, but by no means representative, MCC team which toured the West Indies in early 1926. In the first unofficial Test match against the full West Indies team, Hammond scored 238 not out, and clearly looked an England cricketer in the making. Then it went very wrong. He became seriously ill, and missed the entire 1926 season. At one point, his life was in danger and it was suggested his leg might have to be amputated. We shall return to this illness shortly, but after a winter convalescing in South Africa, he returned triumphantly in 1927, scoring over 1,000 first-class runs in May, only the second man to do so after W. G. Grace. He was selected to tour South Africa in 1927–28 with the MCC team, making his England Test debut in that series. He did well enough to be chosen in the fully representative England team at home against the West Indies in 1928, and although his Test record remained unremarkable, his weight of runs for Gloucestershire made him an obvious choice for Percy Chapman’s team which toured Australia in 1928–29. Any doubts about his ability were erased as he scored 905 runs at an average of 113.12; 779 of those came in five innings. He followed up with an average of almost 60 in the 1929 series against South Africa, and was clearly the best batter in the world.

Hammond batting in Australia in 1928; Bert Oldfield is the wicket-keeper (Image: National Museum of Australia)

But here we have another caveat because the problem for Hammond was that in 1930, Donald Bradman scored 974 runs at 139.14, and over the next decade proved himself almost unarguably (at least from a statistical viewpoint) the greatest batter of all time. And to compound the problem, Hammond’s form collapsed. While Bradman re-wrote the record books, Hammond averaged just 34 in the 1930 series. In 1934, Bradman averaged 94.75 while Hammond averaged 20.25, with a highest score of 43. Against the West Indies in 1933 (74 runs in three innings) and 1934–35 (175 runs in eight innings, average 25.00), Hammond similarly failed. His only real success against anyone other than New Zealand (a team with a somewhat weak attack) between 1930 and 1935 was in the Bodyline series of 1932–33, when he averaged 55.00 (still less than Bradman, who in his worst series averaged 56.57). Some of this was connected with ill health, and he gradually recovered his form in 1935 and 1936. It should also be stressed that throughout the 1930s, he remained supreme in county cricket, and topped the English first-class batting averages in every season from 1933 until 1939 (and again in 1946).

From 1935 until 1939, he averaged substantially over fifty in every series he played, including two against Australia, but never surpassed Bradman. In 1938, he became an amateur, a decision which cleared the path for him to captain England in the last three series before the outbreak of the Second World War.

Serving in the Royal Air Force during the war, Hammond did not see active service; he was mainly involved in welfare work. He was given easy and safe postings, and had time for a huge amount of charity cricket. He was also able to spend a lot of time in South Africa. He resumed his cricket with Gloucestershire in 1946, but was increasingly bothered by ill health. He toured Australia one last time in 1946–47, failed horribly and effectively retired afterwards, barring a handful of ill-advised later appearances.

That is the brief outline of Hammond’s career, although there is far more to be said about Hammond the cricketer. But what fascinated his team-mates, friends and later writers was not just what took place on the field. Other factors always bubbled away in the background. Foot records some of the many rumours that swirled around Hammond, amplified by the awe with which his contemporaries viewed his batting. The most important of these was connected to his serious illness in 1926. According to Foot in Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why, Hammond had contracted a sexually-transmitted disease, probably syphilis. The evidence — although purely circumstantial, far from conclusive, and sometimes overplayed — is reasonably convincing and Foot’s conclusions have been accepted by cricket historians. But this is not the only interpretation, as Foot acknowledged.

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The MCC team which toured the West Indies in 1925–26, pictured during the Jamaican leg of the tour, during which Hammond was already suffering symptoms of his mystery illness. Back row: L. G. Crawley, G. Collins. Middle row: F. Watson, C. F. Root, W. R. Hammond, E. J. Smith, W. E. Astill, R. Kilner, P. Holmes. Front row: Unknown, H. L. Dales, L. H. Tennyson, F. S. G. Calthorpe (captain), T. O. Jameson, C. T. Bennett.

Hammond’s explanation for the illness was a mosquito bite. He also wrote a letter during the tour in which he mentioned that he had received an electric shock through a ring on his finger before leaving England; the resulting burn had “turned to blood poisoning”. Others, including E. J. Smith (who was part of the team for that 1926 tour) and Alan Gibson, had dropped oblique hints about the nature of the illness before Foot wrote his book. Foot reports that others, off the record, were more explicit that Hammond had “picked up a dose”. And it seems to be these rumours which convinced Foot. But he also reports other rumours in circulation which he dismisses. For example, many of Hammond’s contemporaries thought that he was an alcoholic. Others hinted that he was of mixed heritage. Foot reported that many thought that he had Romani ancestry while he noted that Joe Hardstaff and Charles Barnett both thought — using offensive language — that he was mixed race. None of the rumours had much to support them (although he did drink heavily) and yet Foot accepted the ones about syphilis.

While the symptoms reported in Hammond’s case — including swelling and fever — would match those of syphilis or another sexually transmitted disease (and Foot did speak to medical experts in researching his book), they would also match a variety of other illnesses. When Roy Kilner died in 1928 of “enteric fever” (typhoid fever), no-one questioned how he had acquired it, even though it remained a mystery. The death of W. W. Whysall in 1930 was never attributed to anything other than the septicaemia caused when he injured his knee on a dance floor. But for some reason, Hammond attracted rumours just as much as he may or may not have attracted mosquitos.

A large part of Foot’s reasoning is that Hammond appears to have been far more moody and withdrawn after his return from the illness. This is not surprising: Hammond nearly died and his cricket career was endangered. But Foot attributes the change to Hammond’s treatment for syphilis, the most common medicine at the time being mercury. With no actual evidence, Foot suggests that Hammond’s apparent personality change was caused by mercury poisoning. This is probably the weakest part of his argument, not least because not many people to whom he spoke knew Hammond well both before and after the illness, but does not necessarily invalidate the idea that he was suffering from a sexually transmitted disease. And what is indisputable is that Hammond’s lifestyle put him at risk of acquiring such an infection.

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Hammond an an unknown friend in Australia, during the Queensland leg of the 1928–29 MCC tour of Australia

Foot spoke to several people who knew Hammond before his illness; most considered him quiet but likeable. They also noted that he liked to entertain women, although they were never too sure how far this went. Similarly Foot, along with Hammond’s other biographers, identified several girlfriends from this period, some of whom he became quite close to. Among these were Dorothy Oakey and Kitty Hall. Those who knew Hammond later suggested that women were the primary driving force of his life; one team-mate (unnamed by Foot) suggested that the “two ruling passions of Wally Hammond’s life … were his cricket bat and his genitals”. Or as Eddie Paynter, a frequent Test colleague of Hammond in the 1930s, put it: “Wally, well, yes — he liked a shag!” Always immaculately attired and a lover of fast cars, Hammond was doubtless quite an attraction for women as a famous cricketer. Foot believes that this lay behind the infection he possibly acquired in the Caribbean during the 1926 tour. He suggests that there would have been plenty of opportunity for Hammond to “indulge”, and records team-mates memories — although as ever with Foot it is hard to tell where his sources end and his imagination begins — of him slipping away from the group for an hour or so.

While recovering from the illness, Hammond had fewer girlfriends and appears to have had some intention of “settling down”. But there are suggestions that he had returned to his old ways, to some extent, in Australia. Ben Travers, a writer who accompanied the MCC team throughout their tour during 1928–29, later recalled how Hammond spent time during games perusing the “Ladies Enclosure” with binoculars. Whether anything came of this or not, there was a new development almost as soon as Hammond returned from Australia.

Footage of Hammond’s wedding at Bingley Parish Church in 1929

In a blaze of publicity, in late April 1929, Hammond married Dorothy Lister, the daughter of a wealthy Yorkshire textile merchant called Joseph Lister. Hammond had met Dorothy at the Scarborough Festival in 1927 but the couple cannot have spent much time together. Pathé cameras filmed the arrival of the bride, groom and guests, as well as huge crowds gathered outside the church in Bingley to be close to the wedding of the English batting hero from Australia. Afterwards, the couple had a brief honeymoon on the continent. But the marriage was never a happy one; Dorothy resented Hammond’s frequent absences through his cricket duties and was never a fan of the sport. People who knew the couple said that she could be difficult, and there are hints that she drank heavily (as did Hammond); he was certainly rarely an easy man. It cannot have been a pleasant atmosphere, and it was made worse when Joseph Lister died in November 1932. Following his death, his business failed when the price of wool dropped in the Great Depression, leaving Dorothy with no money — which cynics suggested was the main reason Hammond married her. In his biography of Hammond, Gerald Howat described how a friend of Hammond’s mother believed that it was “the warmth of the Lister household’s welcome rather than the attraction of Dorothy Lister which led him to marry into the family.”

The marriage foundered — and both Foot and Howat accepted that Hammond was primarily to blame, although they (unconvincingly) argued that Dorothy’s unwillingness to have children was also a factor — and Hammond began to see other women. When he was the MCC captain during the tour of South Africa in 1938–39, Dorothy travelled there in the middle of the tour in an attempt to save the marriage. But he had already met someone else: Sybil Ness-Harvey, generally described as a “former beauty queen”. He spent a great deal of time during that tour in her company, and they remained in contact afterwards. During the Second World War, when he was stationed for a time in Egypt, Hammond frequently travelled to see her. Dorothy realised that their marriage was over, sold the house and moved to the Isle of Wight. She later returned to Yorkshire.

Hammond and Dorothy Lister photographed in the 1930s (Image: Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why (1996) by David Foot)

Hammond with Sybil Ness-Harvey leaving the Registry Office after their wedding in 1947 (Image: Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why (1996) by David Foot)

Hammond’s relationship with Sybil Ness-Harvey continued after the war, and while he was captaining England to a heavy defeat in Australia in 1946–47, the press reported that he was attempting to divorce Dorothy. The resulting publicity caused him considerable stress, and once the divorce came through he married Sybil almost as soon as he returned to England. The couple eventually had three children and the family later moved to South Africa, where Hammond died in 1965.

If Hammond had an easy way with women, his relationships with men were more strained. While members of the Gloucestershire team were always in awe of his cricketing talent, and in later years younger players hero-worshipped him, he was not a good team-mate. He was happier surrounding himself with influential people or those who could help him with his ambitions. Contemporaries noted how he consciously copied the dress, style and manners of amateur cricketers such as the Gloucestershire captain Bev Lyon; he was close to very few professionals. Some Gloucestershire players actively hated him; other team-mates and opponents also had problems with him.

Learie Constantine was one such player, and wrote about this himself; he claimed that the pair had an ongoing feud on the field which arose from Hammond’s attitude towards him when the pair met during the 1926 MCC tour. Constantine believed that Hammond snubbed him owing to racism, having been friendly enough when they met during the West Indies’ 1923 tour. The result was a series of onfield encounters punctuated by hostility and short-pitched bowling. By Constantine’s own account, this ended when the pair shook hands during the second Test of the 1933 series in England; therefore the “feud” cannot have lasted long as they only faced each other in 1926 and during the 1928 tour of England.

Charles Dacre was a team-mate of Hammond in the Gloucestershire team; he and Hammond did not get along, although we only know this through the recollections of other players as retold by David Foot. Dacre was a New Zealander who remained in England after touring with the 1927 team to qualify for Gloucestershire. Foot wrote: “[Dacre’s] brash self-confidence and jaunty attitude towards going for his shots, not necessarily in the team’s interest, led to a number of bellicose exchanges with Hammond. ‘I just can’t get on with that bloody Kiwi,’ Wally would say. He bridled whenever Dacre’s name was mentioned.”

Confirmation of a kind came from Grahame Parker, who played for Gloucestershire in the 1930s; he recalled one match in which Dacre was keeping wicket and chose to stand up to the stumps when Hammond was bowling. Hammond bowled faster and faster, conceding numerous byes, forcing Dacre to stand further back and bowling wildly, making Dacre “more of a goalkeeper than a wicket-keeper” according to Parker. Reg Sinfield, who also played for Gloucestershire, also related to Foot how Dacre told him on one occasion that he got out to a loose shot simply so he would not have to bat with Hammond.

Others from the Gloucestershire team did not like Hammond; during a Gentleman v Players match at Lord’s, Pelham Warner was watching alongside Basil Allen, who played for Gloucestershire between 1932 and 1951, and captained the county in 1937 and 1938 when Hammond was in the team. Warner said at one point to Allen: “Basil, that Wally Hammond of yours really is a wonderful chap, isn’t he?” Allen responded: “If you want my honest opinion, Plum, I think he’s an absolute shit.” Foot claimed to have heard the story from “three impeccable sources”, but it does raise the question of who these sources might have been. Among the men who could have overheard such a conversation, all of whom would have been influential amateurs at the top of English cricket’s social tree, who would have been willing to pass along such gossip? Was there an actual witness, or was it just more rumours and second-hand gossip passed to Foot by his “impeccable sources”?

Perhaps the team-mate who had the biggest feud with Hammond was Charles Barnett. His contempt for Hammond, with whom he had once been close, poured from almost every interview he gave. His main issue was over Hammond’s treatment of Dorothy, but also over his apparent refusal to appear in Barnett’s benefit match in 1947. Some of his criticisms have validity, but others arose from blind hatred, making him an often unreliable witness. Another man who took issue with Hammond was Denis Compton, who played for England under Hammond’s captaincy. Many of his complaints concerned the disastrous 1946–47 tour of Australia, when Hammond was far past his best and extremely unhappy. And most of their contemporaries agree that Hammond disliked Bradman intensely, and the two men had a tense relationship throughout their careers.

In fact, there were few cricketers with whom Hammond had a close relationship, but those who liked him were very loyal, even to the point of protective defensiveness. Most describe a quiet, self-conscious character, completely at odds with the impression he gave on the field. While some saw him as aloof or self-absorbed, others perceived shyness. Players like his Gloucestershire team-mate Sinfield and his England team-mate Les Ames spoke very highly of him for the rest of their lives, as did Len Hutton, another England team-mate, to a lesser extent.

The overall impression, though, is clear. Hammond was not a popular man with many cricketers. His aspirations to reach a higher social class — culminating in his switch to amateur status — meant that he was never really “one of the boys” in the Gloucestershire or England team. But even those who actively disliked him had to admit that he was an excellent batter. However, looked at objectively, even here there were some qualifications…

“He found the pleasure of life at Oxford too alluring”: The Disgrace of Thomas Barkley Raikes

Thomas Barkley Raikes in 1924 (Image: The Cricketer Annual 1924–25)

Cricket is full of the stories of players whose lives took turns for the worse. Some of these misfortunes were a product of the system in which the sport — and the whole of society — operated, particularly in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Other people caused their own troubles, whether through poor choices or the lifestyle they chose. But while the downfall of professional cricketers was often regretfully proclaimed — as both a warning and a morality tale — by the establishment, amateurs were given far more latitude. Blind eyes were turned and discreet veils of silence were smoothly draped over problems. Nowhere can this be seen more clearly than in the case of the disappearing Oxford Blue who ended what appears to have been years of increasingly wild living with an outright attempt at fraud, without the cricket world batting an eyelid. He disappeared from the pages of Wisden, and from the shores of England, with a minimum of fuss.

Thomas Barkley Raikes was the son of Ernest Barkley Raikes and Hilda Barkley. His father’s side of the family had a cricketing background: Ernest played for the minor county Norfolk, and played first-class cricket in India; Ernest’s brother George represented Norfolk, Oxford University and Hampshire. The second of four children, Tom Raikes was born in Bombay (now Mumbai) in 1902, where his father worked as a barrister and was at one time on the staff of Lord Harris during the latter’s governorship of Bombay. The family seem to have returned to England around the time of Tom’s birth; the two youngest children were born in Norfolk. By the time of the 1911 census, Tom Raikes was a pupil in Suffolk at a small school run by a nurse, Florence Maud Everard. Then from 1916 until 1921, he attended Winchester College, one of the most prestigious public schools in England, where he was a member of Turner’s (one of the school boarding houses).

There is plenty that could be said about the somewhat sadistic nature of English public schools in this period. Pupils came from immensely privileged backgrounds but this was not reflected in their treatment, at least part of which was aimed at toughening them up to take their place in Britain and its empire. Winchester seems to have been harsher than most. Much has been written about life there, for example the privately published Winchester 1916–1921 (which exactly matches Raikes’ time there) by E. T. R. Herdman. Christopher Douglas described life there in Spartan Cricketer (1984), his biography of Douglas Jardine, the England captain who was at Winchester in the same period (he was two years older than Raikes). To give just a flavour of what it was like at Winchester, new pupils were required to learn “notions”, which Douglas described as “a secret vocabulary, grammar and code of behaviour consisting at that time of over 1,000 items. The published glossary in the London Library runs to two volumes.”

Winchester College Cloisters (Image: Historic England)

Douglas also wrote that Winchester “was a terrifying place for any new boy” and that the older boys frequently abused the considerable power that the Winchester system placed in their hands, with the tacit acceptance of the teaching staff. “To enter Winchester in 1914 [when Jardine enrolled] was to go back 30 years in time. While other schools had dispensed with some of the more austere nineteenth-century customs, Winchester remained unchanged, an upholder of the noble virtues in an age of moral and cultural decline. Life at the school was harsh, monastic and governed by a strict routine.”

Douglas outlined a typical day: boys were woken at 6:30 for a wash in cold water (hot water was only used to wash after games; one former pupil told Douglas that he remembered having to run naked through an open passageway to the washhouse even in the snow). Lessons commenced with Latin and Greek — the main subjects — at 7:00, followed by chapel at 7:45 and a meagre snack. Work then carried on for four hours before a lunch which was “an unappetising affair at the best of times, but when the wartime food shortages were at their worst, it constituted a serious health hazard.” The afternoons were given over to games; these were important but did not dominate to the same extent as at other public schools.

Life at the school in general was harsh: the pupils endured a lack of privacy, corps drill during the First World War, labouring on local farms in 1918, and cruel discipline which often involved beatings with a ground-ash. Many of the “old boys” to whom Douglas spoke while researching Jardine’s time there recalled horrific tales with some embarrassment and lingering shock.

Many boys, especially younger pupils, struggled to cope with such a regime. Raikes at least had family with him; his brother Robert Berkley Raikes, two years his junior, also attended Winchester. Their father hoped that both would play cricket for his old university, Oxford. But it was not to be; Robert contracted meningitis and died in April 1919.

Sport was the area in which Raikes excelled. He represented Winchester at rackets (1920–21) and association football (1921); he also played Winchester College football (a code of football exclusive to Winchester and similar in some ways to rugby). But his main successes came in cricket.

Tom Raikes in 1921, his final year at Winchester (Image: Courtesy of the Warden and Scholars of Winchester)

Raikes broke into the Winchester cricket team for the 1919 season, when he played alongside Jardine, the captain, and Claude Ashton, one of the most glamorous schoolboy cricketers of the time. Raikes’ first year in the team was a qualified success; he finished sixth in the batting averages with 197 runs at 19.70 and second in bowling with 15 wickets at 18.20, but was overshadowed by Jardine and Ashton. However, his presence in the first eleven guaranteed him a kind of celebrity at Winchester.

Jardine had left for Oxford University by 1920, and this was the year that Raikes came into his own as a cricketer. Alongside Claude Ashton, who had assumed the captaincy, Raikes was the main bowler in the team. The schools report in Wisden by E. B. Noel described him as “medium to medium-fast” and said that he possessed a good length, changed his pace effectively and produced “awkward” swing. The most important games were those against the leading public schools, and Raikes excelled in these: nine wickets in the win against Eton and five for 32 in a win over Harrow. He finished fourth in the school batting averages with 370 runs at 24.66 and top of the bowling with 54 wickets at 12.41. This was enough for him to be selected for representative schoolboy cricket: he played for “The Rest” against “Lord’s Schools” (i.e. those schools which played matches at Lord’s against those which did not) at the end of term. He also made his debut for Norfolk, following in the footsteps of his father and uncle; over the next four seasons, he played 25 times for the county, taking 42 wickets at 22.64.

Raikes was appointed as the captain of Winchester for 1921, and was fairly successful although the team was not the strongest. The Wisden report by E. B. Noel and F. B. Wilson said of him: “Raikes, the captain, was a thoroughly good schoolboy bowler and useful batsman. He is over medium-pace and as a whole he bowls a good length and he has a nasty swerve.” His best performance was against Charterhouse when he scored 93 runs and took eight wickets for 17; all eight wickets were taking without conceding a single run. He did little in Winchester’s biggest game, against Eton, although he did watch his opening batter J. L. Guise score 278. Raikes was second in the school batting averages with 418 runs at 32.15 and headed the bowling with 60 wickets at 16.01. His performances earned him a place in the Lord’s schools matches again, and this time he was included in the second game, when the “Public Schools” played “The Army”, although he was unsuccessful in both.

By any standards, his school sporting career was a resounding success, and he seems to have taken a full part in Winchester life. Away from the playing field, he was part of the “Shakespeare Reading and Orpheus Glee United Society”, a group which performed dramatic readings. By the time he left school in 1921, he would have been expected to take his place in the world. But it never quite worked out like that.

Tom Raikes in 1922 when he was a freshman in the Oxford University team (Image: The Cricketer, 20 May 1922)

Later that year, Raikes followed Jardine to Oxford University. He entered Trinity College with a good cricketing reputation and was in the University team for four years. Yet he was never quite in the same league as his more famous contemporaries; he never came close to being as effective at a higher level with the bat and his bowling fell away after a promising start. But a large part of his decline seems to have arisen from the various temptations on offer at Oxford; while Jardine, for example, fully absorbed the spartan Winchester lifestyle and spent his whole life transmitting its ethos to everyone he met, Raikes went in the opposite direction.

Part of the problem may have been that he continued to be overshadowed on the cricket field. The Oxford team of 1922 included the future Test cricketers Jardine and Greville Stevens (who had appeared in the Gentlemen v Players match in 1919 while still at University College School). Another team-mate was R. C. Robertson-Glasgow, a good bowler who became far more famous as a cricket writer. But there was little doubt that Raikes would win his “Blue”, particularly after his performance in the Freshman’s Match, when he took five for five (and bowled 57 deliveries before conceding a run). This was followed by a first-class debut against Hampshire which produced a pair with the bat but six wickets with the ball.

His first year in the team was an undoubted success, albeit a low-key one. The report in Wisden said: “The one really hopeful feature of Oxford cricket was the bowling of T. B. Raikes, the Winchester freshman. His record … does not look very much on paper, but he did far better work than his figures would suggest, and once at least he had appalling luck in the matter or dropped catches.” The Oxford correspondent of The Cricketer agreed: “Raikes was an untiring bowler of real class, and he had length, devil, swing and spin, and was always dangerous.”

Unlike at Winchester, Raikes’ batting was inconsequential — in four years in the Oxford team, he averaged 12.88 in first-class cricket with a highest score of 44. But with the ball in 1922, he took 40 first-class wickets at 20.72; a more than respectable return for a man in his first year in the team. His best performance came in a losing cause in the most important match of all. Against Cambridge at Lord’s, he took three for 65. If this seems nothing out of the ordinary, he bowled 44 overs and these figures came out of a Cambridge total of 403 for four. Oxford lost the match by an innings and 100 runs, and Raikes was one of the few bright spots in such a devastating result. Wisden concluded: “All going well, he ought to be invaluable to Oxford for the next two or three years.”

Raikes in a posed shot from 1922 (Image: The Cricketer, 1 July 1922)

There was one incident involving Raikes that year which became legendary. Shortly before the University Match, Oxford were playing Surrey. The university had reached 221 for eight when Raikes came out to join R. C. Robertson-Glasgow. The pair had added four when Robertson-Glasgow drove the ball to long-on and took a run; having completed the first, he called the hesitant Raikes for a second. But when the batters had crossed, one of them — the contemporary report in The Times said Robertson-Glasgow, but the latter said in his autobiography that it was Raikes — changed his mind and turned back. The result was that both batters were running to the same end; both simultaneously realised what was happening and, to prevent it, both chose to reverse their direction at the same moment so that now they were both simultaneously running to the other end. Once more they both realised at the same time, and both changed direction, so that they were yet again heading in the same direction, to the amusement of the thoroughly entertained crowd. Ian Peebles, who was not at the game but knew many of those involved, wrote in The Guardian in 1979: “It was calculated that as though attached to each other by some spectral harness they traversed the pitch four times at the end of which all the stumps had been flattened by repeated attacks and most of the fielders by hysteria.” In Peebles’ version, one of the fielders had to replace one of the stumps in order to complete the run out.

Robertson-Glasgow told a slightly different tale (as related in a 2009 article on ESPNcricinfo by Martin Williamson). While the batters crossed and recrossed the pitch, the Surrey fielding had fallen apart; a poor throw from long-on was fumbled by mid-on, who dropped the ball again as both the bowler and wicket-keeper called for it. Mid-on eventually returned it to the bowler, but both batters were stood in that crease together; the bowler threw it to the wicket-keeper, Herbert Strudwick, who removed the bails. No-one was quite sure who was out, including the umpires who were practically doubled over with laughter, and Robertson-Glasgow recalled that Raikes prevented any discussion by giving himself out. According to Robertson-Glasgow’s autobiography, Raikes declared: “I’m going, I’ve got a beer waiting!” Other versions — such as that written by Peebles — suggest that the two men tossed a coin, but given what happened to Raikes over the following seasons, Robertson-Glasgow’s version has the ring of truth.

Although he remained in the Oxford team for 1923 and was appointed as the Honorary Secretary of the team, Raikes was less effective that year. Wisden said: “Raikes, who had been regarded as Oxford’s bowling hope, fell off sadly”. The Cricketer also noted his loss of form, which it hoped was temporary. He managed just 34 wickets at 30.70. The 1924 season was not much better: Wisden judged the Oxford bowling “second rate”, and said that “Raikes had one afternoon of marked success, but that was all.” The one success was a spectacular one, when he returned his best first-class figures, nine for 38, in a match against the Army. But he was dropped by Norfolk and did not play for the county after the University season ended. The Cricketer was more positive, suggesting that he was dangerous in helpful conditions. He took 37 first-class wickets at 25.32, and it may have been a minor consolation that he had his best season with the bat, averaging almost 20.

The Oxford team of 1924: Back row: K. G. Blalkie, H. W. F. Franklin, J. E. Frazer, G. E. B. Abell. Middle row: C. H. Taylor, T. B. Raikes, C. H. Knott, E. P. Hewetson, F. H. Barnard. Front row: E. H. Sinclair, J. L. Guise. (Image: The Cricketer Annual 1924–25)

But by this stage, something had gone wrong with his cricket. After making a poor start to the 1925 season, Raikes was dropped from the Oxford team. He took just 21 wickets at 23.57, and the Wisden report on Oxford’s season did not mention him. His final match was against H. D. G. Leveson-Gower’s XI in June, after which he disappeared from the cricket scene. The reason seems to have been connected to his fitness; the season review in The Cricketer said: “Raikes’ unfortunate lack of condition involved an irreparable loss to the side.” Many years later, in Raikes’ obituary, Wisden was more blunt: “He found the pleasure of life at Oxford too alluring, rapidly put on weight and was never again really fit enough for a first-class bowler.”

This loss of condition can be seen in the Oxford team photos, in which Raikes noticeably puts on weight with each passing year. There may also have been other off-field issues. The Cricketer suggested that he may have been disappointed to be passed over for the captaincy, which went to J. L. Guise, the former Winchester pupil, who was a year younger than Raikes. Reading between the lines, it looks as if he had expected to be appointed having held the role of Secretary in 1923 and again in 1924. But the author of the Cricketer article insisted that Raikes had been very loyal to Guise.

Raikes may have been bypassed owing to his decreasing form or his increasing weight, but other factors lurked in the background. Stories passed down through his family suggested that he spent much of his time at Oxford drinking and gambling, and quite possibly experiencing other temptations of the flesh. One mysterious episode took place while he was still at Oxford. In late 1924, he married a woman from Headington in Oxfordshire called Cicely Sides, the daughter of a bank manager. Earlier that year, she had been fined for obstructing Magdalen Street in Oxford with her car; Magdalen Street is very close to Trinity College. But this marriage, whatever lay behind it, did not last long; by early 1927, Cicely had divorced Raikes.

With the reverberations of a possibly scandalous marriage still echoing, it is hardly surprising that Raikes was not offered the captaincy, and lost his form. Perhaps Raikes’ lifestyle at Oxford was a reaction to the harshness of Winchester, or possibly connected to the death of his brother. But by mid-1925, he had entered dangerous territory. His Wisden obituary simply said: “On going down [from Oxford] he went abroad and played no more serious cricket.” But the truth was somewhat more complicated.

Raikes had mounting financial problems and at the end of July 1925, his bank forced him to close his account — which contained only 14 shillings — and return all unused cheques to them. On 8 August, Raikes went to “Your Motor Services” — a vehicle company which he had used previously and without incident in June 1925 — and requested the hire of a car for a week; he was told it required a £10 deposit and would cost £14 15s for the hire. He told them that he didn’t have the cash on him but wrote a cheque for £24 15s on a piece of paper, which was refused when the company tried to cash it. Given the correspondence with his bank, there was no way Raikes could have been unaware that the cheque could not be honoured. The company heard nothing more from him, but the car was soon discovered at Market Harborough, where it had been abandoned after an accident. On 28 September, Raikes was arrested as he was about to board a train in Oxford. Charged with attempting to use a fraudulent cheque, he was refused bail and held on remand.

Subsequently, he was charged with two more offences: possession of an automatic pistol and possession of seventeen rounds of ammunition, for which he had no licence; the pistol was discovered on him when he was arrested and the ammunition was in an attache case at his lodgings. He was fined £2 at the Police Court and his ammunition confiscated. He never offered an explanation for why he was carrying a pistol, but it was certainly an indication that all was not well.

When his case came to court at the London Sessions on 20 October, Raikes admitted trying to use a bad cheque, and his father offered to pay the company what they were owed; under this agreement, the case was dropped. Raikes was gently, even sympathetically, handled by the court, which expressed disapproval but clearly wanted to give him another chance. Such a course would not have been taken for anyone from a less privileged background; his father’s occupation as a barrister most likely helped in several ways.

Nevertheless, Raikes was effectively ruined in England. The story was widely reported in the press. The Daily Mirror even had the headline “Oxford Blue Guilty”. But part of the deal struck by Raikes’ father was that his son would be sent overseas, a common solution for wealthy families in dealing with sons who were in trouble. And so, in April 1926, Raikes departed England for Buenos Aires in Argentina, sailing on the Highland Piper. He spent the next 26 years working as a sheep farmer. But rather than live out his life quietly, the indications are that he continued to find problems.

In Argentina, he lived with his uncle, Arthur M. Raikes, and worked on the family sheep ranch. While there, he fell in love with his first cousin, Arthur’s daughter Naomi. They travelled to England and were married in 1930, and eventually had two children back in Argentina. But family stories indicate that Raikes was not particularly faithful and eventually the marriage broke down. His wife moved to Colombia and his children later went to public school in England.

Little else is known of Raikes’ life, because he subsequently stayed out of the public eye. We can fill in a few details from an obituary which appeared in The Wykehamist, Winchester College’s long-running magazine. He lived in Argentina until 1952, which was around the time he divorced Naomi Raikes, and lived in England for the rest of his life. In 1954, he married Nancy Lett (née Glendenning), which The Wykehamist incorrectly says was his second marriage rather than his third. That publication also said that the couple had a daughter, but this seems unlikely: Nancy Glendenning had been born in 1905 and would therefore have been 49 at the time of the marriage (which was her second). More problematic is that there are no registered births of anyone called Raikes whose mother’s maiden name was Glendenning (or Lett).

According to The Wykehamist, Raikes and his family lived in Warwick, where he worked for Nuffield Tractors. He took a new job with Vickers and moved to London around 1959, and following his retirement the family moved to Norfolk. Nancy Raikes died in 1979 (in Norfolk, so it appears that this marriage lasted longer than Raikes’ others). Incidentally, there is a record of a marriage in Surrey in 1960 between Thomas B. Raikes and Sylvia D. J. Byford, but there is no apparent connection with our Tom Raikes.

Raikes’ final years were spent living at The Anchorage in Rickinghall, Suffolk. The Wykehamist lists his interests as “cricket and all forms of sport. He was also a great reader.” He died suddenly in a Bury St Edmunds hospital on 2 March 1984. He was 81 years old and left an estate worth £10,338.

Neither his Wisden obituary nor his Wykehamist obituary made any mention of the scandal which ended his cricket career, and once the story disappeared from the newspapers, it was quietly forgotten. The Wisden obituary ended euphemistically: “He will be remembered as a bowler of great possibilities which he lacked the dedication to develop.”

The Three Hodsons of Sussex

The Cricket Match between Sussex and Kent, at Brighton by Charles Jones Basebe. This engraving from 1849 includes James Hodson (1808–79), pictured fielding at fine leg immediately before the church (Image: Government Art Collection)

Sussex is the oldest of the English first-class county teams, having been formed in 1839. Several famous cricketing “dynasties” have been associated with it over the years, including the Lillywhites, Tates and Gilligans. But one interesting family is hardly remembered at all today, despite being involved with Sussex for almost thirty years, including from the first years of the club. One of the early stalwarts in the team was a man called James Hodson; he was followed into the team by his cousin William Hodson. Almost thirty years later, his cousin’s son, also known as William Hodson, followed his relatives into the Sussex side.

The three Hodsons were part of a wealthy family from East Sussex. James Hodson was born in Streat, a village near Lewes, on 30 October 1808. He was the son of Thomas Hodson, who owned “Hodson’s Black Mill” in Brighton. Following in the family tradition, James worked as a miller most of his life and always gave this as his occupation on census returns. Others in the family were farmers: three of his uncles owned substantial farms, including William Hodson (1778–1857), who was responsible for the construction of the West Blatchington Windmill around 1820.

Two of the family windmills. Left: Hodson’s Black Mill in Brighton, shortly before its demolition in 1866 (Image: Wikipedia). Right: West Blatchington Windmill in 2002 (Image: geograph.org.uk)

James Hodson emerged as a cricketer in the late 1830s, initially playing for the “Players of Sussex” and then for a team representing Sussex in 1838, the year before the official formation of the county club. Despite coming from a wealthy family, he played as a professional. Normally, and particularly in later years, someone from a background like his would not have been paid to play cricket. But the distinctions were not as rigid in the 1830s as they were to become, and perhaps his branch of the family was struggling financially.

By the end of the 1830s, Hodson was judged by the press to be the best bowler in Sussex. He was regarded as less accurate but more dangerous than F. W. Lillywhite (known as “the nonpareil”). Like most leading bowlers, Hodson utilised the round-arm style which had been belatedly legalised in 1835 and which replaced underarm bowling. But even though the updated Laws of Cricket forbade delivery of the ball from above shoulder height, some bowlers had already begun to stretch the rules and were releasing the ball from a higher point. Although many umpires turned a blind eye, this was illegal and there were numerous attempts by the authorities to crack down.

Detail showing James Hodson, from The Cricket Match between Sussex and Kent, at Brighton by Charles Jones Basebe (Image: Government Art Collection)

One of those who pushed the limits was Hodson. On 10 and 11 June 1839, Sussex played the MCC at Lord’s. Hodson took eight wickets (no bowling analyses survive from the match), but this is not what drew attention. When the MCC batted a second time, needing 81 to win, Hodson bowled from the end where W. H. Caldecourt was umpiring (all his other bowling had been in front of the other umpire, Bartholomew Good). Caldecourt almost immediately no-balled him for raising his arm above the shoulder. The resulting furore — from the widespread observation that Good had seen no problems with Hodson’s delivery to the crowd’s anger towards Caldecourt — was a portent of arguments to come regarding fair and unfair bowling many years later. After Hodson had conceded 26 runs to no-balls in around ten minutes, he was withdrawn from the attack.

This match made little difference to Hodson’s career; he played for Sussex until 1854 and took part in 54 matches now recognised as first-class. In 1844 he played for “England” against Kent; in 1845 he appeared for the Players against the Gentlemen at Brighton; and in 1849 he played for the “All England Eleven” against Kent. It is unclear if he modified his bowling style or continued to raise his arm above his shoulder (nor can we be certain if he was ever no-balled again as he is entirely missing from the most widely recognised list of bowlers who were “called”), but his regular selection for games at Lord’s and his inclusion in “England” teams might indicate that he was not considered an unfair bowler. In fact, Hodson was clearly a good cricketer, but was quickly forgotten when his first-class career ended. We know little else about him except he married in 1850, had four children, and died in 1879 leaving an estate worth around £3,000 (the equivalent of over £300,000 today). His death was unreported in the press (and fell in that awkward period before Wisden began publishing obituaries and before the creation of Cricket in 1882).

William Hodson (1808–96) photographed in 1890 by William Hall and Son of Brighton (Image: Courtesy of Geoffrey Boys)

Another branch of the Hodson family was also associated with Sussex cricket through James’ cousin William (the son of his uncle William — there were a lot of men with that name in the family!), who was born in 1808 at West Blatchington. William was the same age as his cousin James, but played for Sussex first. However, he only appeared in one match today recognised as first-class. This was at Lord’s in 1833 when Sussex played an “England” team of leading cricketers. At the time, there was a regular series between “England” and Sussex, involving matches at Lord’s (the home of “England”) and the Royal New Ground in Brighton. “England” were usually stronger, but Sussex were reckoned a powerful team in 1833 (although a report in Bell’s Life hinted that Sussex were not quite at full strength). William Hodson batted at number ten and made a pair; no bowling analyses survive so we cannot be sure if he bowled, nor if he took any wickets (only catchers were credited — a bowler only made the scorecard if the batter was out bowled). And so ended his very brief first-class career.

Similarly to James, William appears to have played as a professional: advertisements for the game identified only one “gentleman” playing for Sussex; the other ten, including Hodson, had no initial listed — an indication that they were all professionals. Otherwise, we know even less about him than we do about James. There is sketchy evidence that he played cricket regularly in Brighton in the 1830s, but it is often unclear whether the “Mr Hodson” recorded in the Brighton Gazette as playing for the Clarence Club was William or James. Further muddying the waters, James’ younger brother Charles (1810–1896) also played for the Clarence Club. But it is likely that the Hodson who played against Worthing a couple of weeks before the England v Sussex game of 1833 was William; he scored 0 and 11 and took at least three wickets. And a player called Hodson — again, probably William — scored 42 and took at least four wickets in another game against Worthing that August. In 1834, both W. Hodson and C. Hodson played for the Clarence Club (including at least one game together), but it is likely that the Hodson playing in the Brighton area towards the end of the decade was James rather than his brother or cousin.

After his brief cricket career ended, William was a farmer for the rest of his life. He married Mary Gould in 1837 and when their first child was born in 1838, they lived in Patcham in Sussex but had moved to Crypt Farm in Cocking by 1841. The couple had eight children in total; after Mary died in 1862, William remarried in 1868. As with James, we know little about his life away from cricket, but we know a little more about his second child — also inevitably called William — who continued the family association with Sussex.

William Hodson (junior) was born in Cocking on 24 January 1841. The census from that year lists him, aged four months (the census was taken in June), living at Crypt Farm, where his father was as a farmer. Ten years later, we find him on the 1851 census as a pupil at Oaklands School in Woolavington, which catered for the under-10s. He subsequently attended Brighton College, appearing in the school cricket team in the mid-1850s. By the time of the 1861 census, William lived with his maternal aunt and her husband, Thomas Coppard, a solicitor and farmer in Albourne. William is listed as an apprentice solicitor, and presumably worked for Coppard.

Having made several appearances for the Gentlemen of Sussex from 1858, Hodson made his first-class debut for Sussex in June 1860, aged just 19, and played three matches that season. Although he achieved little with bat or ball, he must have impressed enough people to make several appearances over the following seasons. He played just once for Sussex in 1861, but appeared in every one of their games in 1862 and 1863; in the latter season, he also played for the “Gentlemen of the South” against the “Players of Surrey” at the Oval.

William Hodson (1841–96) photographed for the Supplement to Fashion and Sport, date unknown (Image: Courtesy of Geoffrey Boys)

Hodson played no first-class cricket after 1863, but was a regular for the Gentlemen of Sussex until 1881 (including an appearance against the touring Australian team in 1878). He must have been a good batter; his overall first-class record was 496 runs at 21.56, with a highest score of 50, but in this period of low scores and impossible pitches, that was a very respectable record. For example, in 1863 (counting only players who made five or more appearances) he was ninth in the first-class averages with 298 runs at 24.83. We know little else about his cricket, but a tribute written upon his death in 1896 in Cricket stated: “Standing well over six feet, he had great hitting powers, which he used to advantage. Besides, he was a splendid field, especially at long-leg and cover.”

The reason for the end of his Sussex career was almost certainly because he had qualified as a solicitor. In 1868, and for the following few years, the Post Office Directory named him as a solicitor in Hurstpierpoint until he moved to Shoreham around 1878. It appears that he continued to work with his aunt’s husband: he was a partner in Coppard and Hodson, which later became Coppard, Hodson and Wade when Charles Aubrey Wade joined the firm in the 1870s.

Away from the world of cricket and law, Hodson junior seems to have had an unusual life and there are many unanswered questions. In 1866, he married Annie Edith Staplehurst, the daughter of William Staplehurst who is listed on her marriage certificate as a “Gentleman”. But Annie’s identity is the first of the many mysteries surrounding Hodson. Census entries after her marriage state that she was born around 1844 somewhere near Chailey (according to the 1881 census) or Piltdown (according to the 1871 census); the villages are fairly close to each other, around 12 miles north-east of Brighton. She gave her address on her marriage certificate as 60 London Road, Brighton, but this does not help much. In 1861, Charles Sprake lived at that address with his wife, his sister and a servant; ten years later, the house was occupied by John Clegg, his wife, his daughter and a servant. No-one on either census return seems to have had any connection with a family called Staplehurst.

But there might be a hint there at what was really going on, because also on the 1861 census is a woman called Annie Staplehurst who was working as a servant in the Kemptown area of Brighton, employed by Lucy Burdett, a lodging house keeper at 160 Marine Parade (not far from London Road). Could Annie have been a servant who was working at 60 London Road at the time of her marriage? Which begs the question: why would Hodson — a member of a wealthy family and a qualified solicitor — marry a servant? The most obvious solution — a pregnancy — does not work as the couple had their first child around 12 months after their marriage.

Finding Annie on a census before 1861 is difficult. The most likely candidate is an Annie Staplehurst, the daughter of William and Hannah, on the 1851 census; she was ten years old and had been born in Fletching, Sussex (between Piltdown and Chailey). Her father was a farm labourer. There is another possibility. According to a descendant who has seen it, Annie’s gravestone states that her maiden name was Leeves. And a man called William Staplehurst married someone called Lucy Louisa Leeves in 1843. By 1851, they had four children, the eldest of whom was Sally Ann; she was born in Fletching around seven months after her parents’ wedding. Her father was a “Master Carman”. This would not, however, explain why “Sally Ann” became “Annie Edith”.

If either of these women are our Annie (and she might have been someone else entirely, or someone who changed her name), the identification of her father as a “gentleman” on her marriage certificate is clearly a polite fiction aimed at disguising her background and humble status. Some of her descendants who have researched the family history believe that Annie was the illegitimate daughter of a “gentleman”, which would explain her marriage to Hodson. While this is possible, there is no evidence to support it. Whichever way we examine the marriage, it is hard to explain; Annie Staplehurst remains a mystery.

Returning to more certain ground, Hodson and Annie had eight children in total. By 1881, Hodson had joined the Freemasons and was settled in Shoreham. The census records him living with his family and two servants on the High Street of New Shoreham. But the marriage may already have been in trouble, and by the time of the next census, the couple had separated.

On 6 June 1888, Annie and six of their seven children arrived in Nova Scotia, Canada, on board the Nova Scotian. William was not with them, nor was their eldest daughter who had just married (according to descendants of the family, Annie was a witness at the wedding, which took place shortly before her departure to Canada). The family appear on the 1891 Canadian census, living in Annapolis Royal, although one of the children seems to have returned to England. Annie died in Canada, aged fifty, in 1893. The fate and movements of the rest of the family are complicated. However, there is evidence that they were financially supported, possibly by their father and probably by various family trusts.

Walter Gilbert (Image: Cricket, 20 May 1886)

What is not clear is why they went to Nova Scotia at all (there was no family connection with Canada) and why William did not accompany them. We might find a hint of an explanation for the destination, but it is a very tenuous link. In 1882, a case came before Chichester County Court, reported in the Weekly Dispatch, concerning Walter Gilbert, a cousin of W. G. Grace who was often in severe financial difficulty. He was the manager of the United South of England cricket team and one of his players had taken him to court over non-payment of wages. The solicitor for the plaintiff was William Hodson. During the case, when the court was arguing over the fees the plaintiff should have been paid, Hodson recalled that when he played for Sussex, he received £5 for a home game and £6 for an away one (although as an amateur, he should not have been paid at all).

In 1886, Gilbert and his family moved to Canada, effectively exiled by the Grace family, following his disgrace after serving a prison sentence for theft. The Gilberts settled in Halifax, Nova Scotia, where Walter opened a school. There is no obvious connection between Hodson and Gilbert other than that one court appearance (when Gilbert was not even present), but it is quite a coincidence, especially given the timing. Another possible link is that Gilbert was married to the daughter of James Lillywhite, who played for Sussex between 1850 and 1860 (although he never played with William Hodson) and was the son of F. W. Lillywhite who had played alongside James Hodson in the 1830s. Did the Hodsons go to join the Gilberts? Was there some unknown connection? Was this a similar “exile” for reasons lost to history? Unfortunately, there seems no way to know.

The reason that William and Annie separated is much clearer. William was in a relationship — over a long period — with a married woman. This emerged publicly, and somewhat embarrassingly, in an 1890 divorce case when John Ince, a retired surgeon who had served with the British Army in India, petitioned to divorce his wife Kate Montgomerie Ince on the grounds of adultery.

Kate Montgomerie Davidson had been born in Huntingdonshire in 1851, the daughter of a doctor. She had married George Kelly at Brixton in February 1870. Shortly after the marriage, the couple moved to Ludhiana in British India where Kelly worked as the district’s police superintendent, but he died on 4 December 1870 (the cause of death is unclear). Ince was a doctor who attended Kelly when he was ill, but eyebrows may have been raised when Ince married his widow on 12 January 1871. According to Ince’s evidence at the divorce hearing, as reported by The Times: “On the death of her first husband [Kate] was in such straitened circumstances as to be almost destitute … [Ince] married her out of sympathy with her in her unfortunate position.” She was also heavily pregnant, and gave birth to her first child, Isobel Kelly, on 4 March 1871. Over the following five years, she had another three children with her new husband, although only two of them survived.

It was not a happy marriage, and both parties had an extensive list of complaints about the other. Unsurprisingly for this period, only Ince’s side came out in court, and he told the divorce hearing — clearly playing to the gallery and drawing several laughs — that “almost immediately after marriage [Kate] commenced to exhibit great violence of temper, that she threw ink bottles and gum bottles at him, that on various occasions he bore marks of her violence, and that only on one occasion did he strike her, that being during one of her assaults upon him.” They spent periods apart but returned to live together in various parts of India before they returned to England in 1876. Later that year, they were granted a judicial separation. Ince claimed to have been in a state of melancholia between 1876 and 1884, leading “a very retired life”.

The Royal Court of Justice, where all divorce cases were heard at this time
(Image: sjiong (CC BY-SA 2.0) via Wikipedia)

In 1889, Ince discovered that Kate had been living with William Hodson “as man and wife” since October 1886. Until then, Ince had believed that “his wife was leading a virtuous life”. When Ince filed for divorce in 1890, he claimed damages against Hodson (named as a co-respondent in the case). If we can believe Ince, Hodson must have separated from his own wife by that date (which fits with the birth of his youngest child Gladys in mid-1885). But it may not be quite so straightforward; in the documents she submitted to establish that she was not guilty of adultery, Kate stated that her husband had been aware of the relationship between her and Hodson in either late 1884 or early 1885 — she was attempting to prove that he had delayed proceedings unreasonably after becoming aware of the alleged adultery.

Ince’s wife responded with several counter-allegations: that no adultery had occurred, but if it had her husband had “connived” in it; that her husband had neglected her and “treated her with unkindness”; that he had turned her and their three-year-old child out of their house in Rawalpindi in 1874; that he had not fed her or treated her when she was ill; that he had variously beaten and assaulted her; that he too had committed adultery with one of his servants in 1888; that he had called her, on various occasions, a whore and a street-walker and denied being the father of her children. It seems to have been a bitter and unpleasant affair. One of her most gruesome accusations (mentioned only once by Kate and then dropped) was that in the early 1870s, when she was in a delicate mental state, he had forced her to sketch the private parts of decomposing female corpses. None of this emerged in court, and he strenuously denied her accusations in private.

Kate called two witnesses to support her allegation of adultery: the servant concerned, and another servant who had seen evidence of intimacy. But the first servant had written a letter to Ince before the case which contradicted her testimony and so the judge told the jury to disregard her evidence.

But the most sensational witness was their only surviving child, the fourteen-year-old John Ince, who began his evidence by saying he had seen the servant come out of his father’s bedroom and had seen him kiss her. But as he alleged this had happened in 1885, when he would have only been ten, his reliability was called into question. Under cross-examination, it further emerged that John had taken the name Hodson and had been living with his mother and William Hodson. And he was largely discredited when a letter was read out which he had sent to his father. He had written it after learning that his father had stood outside his mother’s house earlier that month (on 5 November 1890) shouting and swearing. Although he wrote to Ince that he “made every allowance for your being mad”, he threatened to “break every bone in your miserable old carcass” if he ever annoyed his mother again.

John made a few other allegations about his father’s eccentric behaviour, but wrote something which made the press very excited: “I hear you were in London yesterday. I hope you enjoyed yourself. One thing I should like to know. Where were you when the Whitechapel murders were committed, as I have read the papers and it is my opinion you have done them all, as they all agree that he was a doctor, that he carried a black bag, and was mad, and was a most repulsive-looking party; isn’t it wonderful how exactly you answer to that description?”

He had not initially sent the letter, at the request of his mother, but upon seeing his father a few days later, sent it with a follow-up, which included this passage: “I will never own that you are my father. The man I call father [i.e. William Hodson], and whom I respect and love, can trace his pedigree 500 years back, and never any but brave and true gentleman in the count.”

For what it is worth — without entering into any debates about the identity of “Jack the Ripper” — the accusation against Ince seems to have been born out of teenage anger and a few unremarkable coincidences rather than any compelling evidence. Ince has never been a suspect for the killings, not even in the more esoteric realms of Ripper theorising. And in later years, his son resumed using the name Ince, suggesting that the pair reconciled.

The report in The Times drily stated: “The contents of the letter appeared to create amazement in court, but the reading of it did not at all disconcert the witness.” Nevertheless, the barrister representing Mrs Ince announced that he would not be taking her case any further. The jury found Mrs Ince and Hodson guilty of adultery and the judge pronounced a decree nisi; although Ince withdrew his claim for £1,000 in damages, the judge granted costs against Hodson, despite the plea of Hodson’s barrister that he did not know that Mrs Ince was married. This was somewhat undermined when one of Ince’s representatives pointed out that Hodson’s name was on the deed of separation (which had been made in 1876), and he therefore must have known that she was married when they began their relationship. If this was true, Hodson could have been in a relationship with Kate for fourteen years, but as he had five children with Annie in this time, and as Ince did not make use of the deed to strengthen his case, it is far from certain. As only The Times reported this, perhaps it was a mistake.

Hodson made little contribution in court, and his responses in the official documents are somewhat lacking; it is quite likely that embarrassment was the main emotion he felt at being drawn into such a sensational story where his private life was displayed — albeit incidentally — across many newspapers. Nor can the gleeful reporting of the claims made by Ince’s son have made it any easier.

Again, what happened next is mysterious. There is no trace of Hodson, Kate Ince or her son on the 1891 census. The next public mention of Hodson came in 1896 when the Mid-Sussex Times printed a death notice on 28 April for “William Hodson, late of Hurstpierpoint” on 19 April in Barbados. A brief article in the same edition said:

“Mr. Wm. Hodson, well known in 1861–2 as a member of the Sussex county cricket team, died on Sunday week at Barbadoes [sic], from yellow fever. Deceased was a native of Cocking, near Midhurst. Retiring from the county eleven 1862 in consequence of an accident, Mr. Hodson settled in Hurstpierpoint as a solicitor, and frequently played in the local club matches.”

Cricket also reported his death on May 7, saying it had occurred “within the last few days”. All very mysterious; what was he doing in Barbados? Some of his descendants researching the family history have written that he died on a ship in the “waters off Barbados”, but it is not clear from where this information comes. Was he visiting Barbados, or had business taken him there? Even more interesting is the record of Ince’s will in the Probate Index; it states that “Hodson William of Damaraland South West Africa died 8 April 1896 at Barbados West Indies.” Damaraland is part of what is now Namibia; again, we have no indication of what took him there, but it appears that Kate was with him. The Probate Index records that the executor of his estate (worth just over £816, a substantial but not huge amount) was “Kate Montgomerie Ince single woman”.

Kate was not too upset as by early 1897 she had married again — her new husband was Andrew Christopher Palles — in London, but she died on 13 November 1897 in hospital; the cause of death was an ischiorectal abscess and septicaemia. Her death was announced in the Sussex Agricultural Express under her former name of Ince, after “a long and painful illness from rheumatic fever”; she was listed as the “only daughter of Dr. F. M. D. Davidson, of South Norwood” and the wife of John Ince. Did this announcement originate from her father (who was still alive at the time)? Her husband Andrew Palles died in South Africa in 1903; her son also lived there from, at the latest, 1901 until his death in 1941. Is there a connection with Hodson’s residence in Damaraland?

As with the rest of William Hodson’s life, the answers seem to be beyond our reach.

Note: William Hodson junior’s death has been muddled up with that of his father in cricket databases. CricketArchive states that William junior died on 15th May 1896 at Preston Park, Brighton, but this was actually his father. William senior was around 87 years old, and his death came just over a month after that of his son; he is listed on the same page of the probate index, leaving an estate worth just over £3,335 (worth around £400,000 today). William senior’s death is unrecorded on CricketArchive, which also does not mention that he was related to William junior or to James Hodson.

The Contradictions of Arthur Gilligan

The MCC team in India in 1926–27. Back row: M. L. Hill, M. W. Tate, J. Mercer, W. E. Astill, G. F. Earle, G. Geary, G. Boyes, G. Brown. Middle row: J. H. Parsons, A. E. R. Gilligan, Leslie Wilson, R. C. Chichester-Constable, A. Sandham. Front row: R. E. S. Wyatt, P. T. Eckersley. (Image: The Cricketer Spring Annual 1926–27)

Arthur Gilligan captained England in two Test series: against a weak South African team who were defeated 3–0 in 1924, and in a catastrophic Ashes series in Australia in 1924–25 when his side lost 4–1. More notable than the defeat on the field though was the reception that Gilligan received off it. He was praised for his tact and diplomacy, even if most critics kept silent about his less-than-effective tactical leadership. Behind the scenes, though, Gilligan and the team manager Frederick Toone were almost certainly trying to establish fascist groups in the places they visited. Both men were active members of the British Fascists, and following the conclusion of the tour Gilligan publicly associated himself with the movement, speaking at meetings and even contributing an article to a fascist publication which suggested that cricket tours worked best when run along “fascist lines”. There was never any backlash against Gilligan; on the contrary, he was a Test selector in 1926 and wrote numerous cricket books for years to come. It was only many years later, after his death, that there was a reaction against Gilligan’s political views. But the evidence of the rest of his life presents a mixed message about what Gilligan really believed, and how much he adhered to fascist views.

Gilligan’s first-class career continued intermittently until 1932, but after the 1924–25 tour, he was never in contention for the England team again. He did respectably well with the ball in 1926 and 1928, without ever approaching his form of 1923 and 1924, and he batted quite well, even scoring a thousand runs in 1926. But after 1928, he barely played. His last significant cricket came when he was selected to lead an MCC team in India during the 1926–27 season.

Maurice Tate and Gilligan in India (Image: The Cricketer Annual 1926–27)

This was the first tour of India by an English team since the Oxford University Authentics visited in 1902–03; it was also the first MCC team to visit the country, making it quite a historic occasion. Neither the MCC nor the British government would have wanted a cricketing event to make waves at a time of growing political tension in India, making the choice of captain important. It was vital that the MCC captain was a diplomat. Which makes it doubly curious that the MCC would choose a man who, whatever his cricket or social qualifications, remained a member of the British Fascists.

Another factor in the background was that India had been admitted to the Imperial Cricket Conference in 1926, at the same time as the West Indies and New Zealand. At the time of the 1926–27 tour, there was no central governing body for Indian cricket, and the rules stated that India could not play Test matches without one in place. Not only that, but Indian cricket was dominated by Europeans; many of the teams which the MCC played were largely white. Mihir Bose in The Magic of Indian Cricket (2006) explains how the tour was the idea of a man called A. Murray Robinson, who intended that the MCC would play European teams, largely to encourage and promote white cricket in India; it was Robertson and another Englishman called William Currie who represented India at the crucial meeting of the Imperial Cricket Conference in 1926. However, the 1926–27 tour was financed by the Maharaja of Patiala and therefore the MCC team played against Indian opposition, and so it marked a huge turning point for the sport in that country.

In one of the more surprising turns of his life, Gilligan apparently encouraged Indian cricket. Bose records how, unlike many other Englishman, he “met Indians on terms of perfect equality”. While this seems to be overstating the facts, Gilligan was happy to play Indian — as well as European — opposition, which was not a universally held position among English cricketers. He also went considerably further than that. There was an informal meeting in the Roshanara Club in Delhi, after the MCC had played a match there, between Gilligan, the Maharaja of Patiala, an English businessman called R. E. Grant Govan, and Anthony de Mello, an Indian who worked for Grant Govan. The four men agreed that India needed to establish their board of control in order to cement Test status. De Mello later wrote in his Portrait of Indian Sport (1959): “Gilligan was a key man, not only in English, but also in world cricket circles at the time. It was of the utmost importance to us that he should leave India with the idea firmly in his mind that we could play cricket of a high class and — equally vital — that we could play it in accordance with the highest English traditions.” And at this meeting, de Mello wrote: “Not the least keen on the idea was Gilligan, and his enthusiasm was of the greatest encouragement to us. We felt that if a man so cricket-wise as Gilligan considered Indian cricket had reached a stage in its development where it could challenge the world then we had certainly achieved something. Gilligan promised to state our case when he returned to Lord’s”.

It is not quite clear if Gilligan ever did so, but a Board of Control was formed in 1928 which was representative of all India, not just white Europeans, and India played their first Test match in 1932. Bose believes that Gilligan should take some credit for that. Even if this seems overly generous, it is certain that his 1926–27 team gave a huge boost to cricket in India, being a huge attraction wherever it went. Bob Wyatt, one of the members of the MCC team told his biographer Gerald Pawle about his experiences for R. E. S. Wyatt: Fighting Cricketer (1985). Of Gilligan’s captaincy, Pawle said: “An immensely popular and likeable man [Gilligan] decided early on not to concern himself too closely with many problems which might easily sort themselves out without his assistance. He was fortunate in his deputy, for in Major Raleigh Chichester-Constable, an Army officer with a strong sense of discipline and great charm he had a superb Vice-captain who did much to ensure the success of the tour.”

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Arthur Gilligan (centre) leads out the MCC in Karachi in October 1926.

Even so, there were problems. Gilligan clashed with Jack Parsons, a professional in his team who was a devout Christian and therefore did not want to play on Sundays (the pair compromised after a fiery argument so that Parsons could leave games early on a Sunday to attend evening church services). Gilligan also refused to attend an official function at Calcutta unless his professionals — who had not been invited — were allowed to accompany him; whatever his other faults, Gilligan seems to have always supported professional cricketers. But there was another side to the tour; conscious of the political side to the tour, Gilligan (or the team management) did not want to offend either European or Indian officials, so almost all invitations were accepted. Wyatt did not enjoy this aspect; Pawle wrote: “The strain of innumerable social functions soon became a worrying problem, and in all the tours he was subsequently to make Wyatt recalls nothing to equal it. So many players were laid low by sheer exhaustion that reserves had to be drawn from Englishmen temporarily in India on coaching engagements.”

Given these varied considerations, results were not too important. The team played 34 matches (30 in India and four in Ceylon), winning 11 and drawing 23. Of much greater impact in the long term was the interest it generated in India and the good impression formed of Indian cricket among the English players. But for all the luxury which greeted the team, the conditions in India disturbed some of them, including Wyatt, who told Pawle that he never accepted another invitation to tour the country because “the squalor and poverty which denied hope to India’s teeming millions … made an ineradicable impression on his mind”.

But this is dancing around the elephant in the room. How could a member of a fascist organisation (and Gilligan remained a member of the British Fascists until at least 1927, after the completion of the tour) be supportive of Indian cricket? Did his views really diverge from those of other English cricketers? The actual evidence is somewhat thin. Parsons’ account of the tour as given to his biographer Gerald Howat suggests that the team were very aware of racial tensions, as white Europeans tried to maintain control of Indian cricket. Gilligan simply tried to steer a course which avoided giving offence. The idea that he actively supported Indian cricket is somewhat misleading. India was already a member of the Imperial Cricket Conference and on course to play Test cricket; the stumbling block had been the formation of an Indian cricket board. Maybe Gilligan’s notion that this should have been formed through the Maharaja of Patiala — rather than being composed of Europeans — changed the direction of Indian cricket. On the other hand, perhaps Gilligan’s benevolence has been exaggerated; even relatively reactionary members of the cricket establishment accepted the right of maharajas to play and organise cricket; this may well have happened without his alleged intervention. Nor does Gilligan seem to have taken any particular interest in Indian cricket once the tour was complete. As often seems to be the case with Gilligan, nothing is clear-cut.

When he returned to England, Gilligan gradually drifted away from cricket. By 1930, his brother Harold had taken over as Sussex captain, and also stepped in as captain of the MCC team which toured New Zealand in 1929–30, from which Gilligan withdrew with illness. As Sussex captain, Gilligan had achieved little but in Michael Marshall’s Gentlemen and Players (1987), Percy Fender credited him with leading a happy team, for giving the professionals a greater say in the running of the side and for being one of the most popular county captains. Fender also suggested that he made Sussex into one of the best fielding sides in the County Championship. Fender said: “Generally, Sussex were a happy, if unpredictable side.” He maintained his connection with Sussex until his death; he published a history of the county in 1932, served on the committee from 1950 until 1973 (and was its chairman from 1963 until 1971) and was the county president in 1974.

As for his personal life, Gilligan married Cecilia Mary Matthews (known as “Molly”), a solicitor’s daughter, in April 1921; the couple went away for a honeymoon on the Isle of Wight. They lived for a time in a flat in Maida Vale but the marriage did not last. By January 1924, Cecilia had left him. In 1926, she applied successfully for a judicial separation and in 1933 for a divorce, which Gilligan did not contest. In fact, he seems to have assisted her by sending her a copy of a bill in late 1932 which proved that he had spent a night in a hotel room with a woman called Katherine Weyand. In 1934, the day after his divorce was made absolute, Gilligan married Katharine Margaret Fox, whom he had met (according to his entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, based on information from Katharine, who died in 1998) on a skiing trip. She was originally from Ilkley and was the daughter of a mohair merchant. The 1939 Register records them living in a house called Oak Lodge in Chanctonbury, Sussex. Gilligan was listed as the “Director of a Canned Goods Brokers”. Although we know little about Gilligan’s occupation outside of cricket, it seems likely that this was the same firm owned by his father, who had been a partner in a food brokers with his father-in-law. Two other women lived with them in 1939: a 19-year-old domestic servant and Gilligan’s sister Alice (at that time a married woman, whose husband had presumably joined the armed forces).

Somewhat curiously, and in contrast to many cricketers, Gilligan did not immediately sign up when war broke out in 1939. But around 12 months later, in October 1940, he was commissioned as a pilot officer in the RAF and by the end of the war had been promoted to Squadron Leader. He does not appear to have played any active role in the war, but instead was responsible for organising sporting activities. He played a few charity cricket matches for the RAF, but not many. Perhaps revealingly, his Wisden obituary, his obituary in The Cricketer and his hagiographical entry in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography are silent on his activities during the Second World War. Even From the Sea End (1989), the official Sussex history only mentions a couple of cricketing incidents from his wartime service.

Arthur Gilligan’s review of the 1946–47 Ashes for British Movietone

The obvious question is had his fascist past had come to haunt him? While Gilligan was never arrested or interned, it is likely that the authorities were aware of his very public support for fascism in the past. Did that explain why he did not join the armed forces until the war had been underway for over a year, and why his role in the RAF was minor one? In contrast to other inter-war England captains, he had a very quiet war; perhaps the authorities were less forgiving than the cricket world.

When the war ended, Gilligan continued to be a public figure. He was a member (and served as president of many) clubs. As a keen golfer, he was also a member (and president) of many golfing associations too. He became famous again as a commentator, particularly in Australia, where he struck up an on-air partnership with Vic Richardson; he covered the MCC tours of 1936–37, 1946–47, 1950–51 and 1954–55. But there was one final piece of controversy, with which Gilligan’s name is still associated. In this case, however, Gilligan was relatively blameless, albeit probably not innocent.

In 1968, the England selectors left out Basil D’Oliveira from the MCC team due to tour South Africa over the winter. The actual reasons for D’Oliveria’s omission will never be known for certain (and there was a reasonable argument for doing so on cricketing grounds), but what is not in any doubt is that the South African government, in an effort to protect its racist apartheid policies, put enormous pressure on D’Oliveria and figures within the MCC to ensure he was not part of the team. Almost everyone believed that D’Oliveira had been left out to avoid a clash with the South African government. The suspicion, at the time and ever since, has been that senior figures at the MCC were at the very least sympathetic to the apartheid regime and at worst conspired with it.

Some of the commentators for the 1950–51 Ashes series being interviewed in January 1951. Left to right: Gilligan, Bernard Kerr, Don Entwisle (interviewer) and Vic Richardson (Image: Examiner (Launceston), 19 January 1951).

The president of the MCC during that crucial period was none other than Arthur Gilligan. At the time, it was not widely known that he had been a fascist in the 1920s, but when the information re-emerged after Andrew Moore’s 1991 article — and was further recirculated when the cricket historian Robert Brooke publicised it in the early 2000s (although one newspaper article wrongly claimed that Brooke was the one to make the discovery) — people were quick to make a connection. A 2004 documentary by BBC4 claimed that Gilligan put the selectors under pressure to drop D’Oliveria, and explicitly made the link with his fascism. Certainly, Gilligan would have been aware of a letter from the South African government which indicated that the tour would be cancelled if D’Oliveira was chosen, and he was present at the selection meeting. But in reality, the role of President was largely ceremonial and the power at the MCC lay with the Secretary, Gubby Allen, and the Treasurer, Billy Griffith. Gilligan had no power to intervene, whatever his own views might have been. However, he was close to many of those at the selection meeting, not least Peter May, one of the selectors, who was married to his niece.

There is also a danger of reading too much into Gilligan’s past; the British Fascists were slightly vague about their policies and intentions. Unlike similar groups, they do not seem to have proclaimed overtly racist beliefs (although this does not mean that members did not hold them). There is a suspicion among historians that many of those who joined did not quite know what they were getting into, and saw early fascism as akin to being a member of the Boy Scouts. Gilligan’s link with the organisation might have been an embarrassment to him in later years, but it is not certain proof that he supported outright fascism and/or racism; this may also explain his support, however lukewarm, for Indian cricket.

However, in recent years, the facts have become blurred to the point where Gilligan has been described as a Nazi or — inaccurately — a member of the more extreme British Union of Fascists. In actuality, it is equally likely that Gilligan was a fool who did not know what he was supporting (which would match what we know of his personality, where enthusiasm rather than deep thought was a defining characteristic) as much as he was a vehement supporter of fascism. In the end, we do not know — but the evidence of his membership of the British Fascists should not be stretched in an attempt to prove too much, especially in connection with the D’Oliveira Affair.

This does not mean to say that Gilligan would have opposed any move to drop D’Oliveira; like many of the MCC, he would have been keen, even desperate, to maintain sporting links with South Africa. Modern writers have generally concluded that the selectors were misguided rather than racist — too keen to separate sport from politics without considering the wider picture — but that seems overly generous. However, Gilligan should not be singled out; it is hard to believe that a man such as Gubby Allen was not a strong supporter of the South African government and quite likely racist. Many prominent figures in the cricket world supported a fund to protect the ultimately cancelled 1970 tour of England by South Africa; one of the selectors, Alec Bedser, was a member of the right-wing Freedom Association which wanted to maintain links with South Africa.

Nor should we be so naive as to think that men of their generation and background did not hold racist views (even if they were not recognised as such at the time). But again, Gilligan was likely no better or worse than anyone else, despite his political leanings in the 1920s. No-one on the MCC side comes out of the D’Oliveria Affair too well; but Gilligan is often a convenient scapegoat, whose past is used as a smokescreen to hide those who were equally — or more — culpable.

Gilligan died in 1976, and his various obituaries and later tributes were often glowing. While acknowledging his shortcomings as a captain, they described him as a cheerful and much-loved figure. Perhaps the only hint of something else came in his Cricketer obituary, which said of him in later life: “Only in matters of behaviour would he allow no relaxation of the standards in which he had been brought up. Boorish or ill-tempered conduct on or off the field he hated and, if he could have had his way, some of our modern players would have received short shrift.” All of these were written before the emergence of the links with the British Fascists, but even today Gilligan’s article in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography reads like it could have been written in the 1930s, making no mention of any negative aspects of his life.

But the wider world now views Gilligan with some suspicion. In 1971, a stand at Hove Cricket Ground was named after him, but this was quietly dropped when the stand was demolished as part of a 2010 redevelopment. There was a protest from his surviving family (he had no children, but a niece spoke out publicly), particularly when the redevelopment was accompanied by the removal of his portrait from the Sussex Committee Room. His niece said in The Times that she had been told it was because of his fascist links; among those to protest at the change were Robin Marlar and Murray Hedgcock. All of them seemed not to know that when the stand was build, his fascist past was still largely unknown. The storm raged for a while before subsiding.

All of those involved seemed ignorant of the full story of Gilligan. Some writers today suggest that he was a complicated man because of his support for fascism and his encouragement of Indian cricket. But in reality, there does not seem to have been anything too complicated about him. I suspect he drifted into fascism without much thought and drifted into supporting Indian cricket with an equal lack of analysis. Like his captaincy, the man seems to have been straightforward, which is why he appealed to many people on and off the field.

Does he deserve to be remembered more? Not really; his captaincy record and playing record are unremarkable and he owed his position — like many others — purely to his background. He did little off the field to bring prestige to the sport — quite the opposite — and his role in the growth of Indian cricket looks somewhat exaggerated. Should he be condemned as a fascist? Probably not; it is not implausible that Gilligan never clearly looked into or understood what the beliefs of the British Fascists really were, and there is no evidence that he remained sympathetic to fascism after his last recorded attendance at a meeting in 1927. Nor did any of these beliefs have any impact on the D’Oliveria Affair in 1968. Does that mean he has been unfairly treated? No. His views were doubtless like those of most of his contemporaries: conservative and reactionary. He probably supported apartheid and probably held quietly racist views, like most of his cricketing class. But he never suffered for any of this during his lifetime; quite the contrary. Any subsequent damage to his reputation has come long after his death and made no personal difference to him in the end.

Disagreement, Divorce and Disaster: Why did William Scotton become a Stonewaller?

William Scotton (Image: Cricket, 17 July 1884)

William Scotton, a professional who played for Nottinghamshire between 1875 and 1891, had a reputation during his lifetime as a blocker — a dull batter who concentrated entirely on defence and scored very slowly. But he was not always that way. When he first played for Nottingamshire, he was known as a hitter, and he gradually improved until he was a regular in the county team. But his career was slightly derailed in 1881; first by a players’ strike in which he was involved which restricted the amount of cricket he played, and then by allegations that members of the all-professional English team (of which Scotton was a part) which toured Australia over the 1881–82 season under the captaincy of Alfred Shaw had accepted bribes to throw a match. Scotton’s name was associated with events in Australia which remain mysterious to this day: he was alleged to have been offered money to underperform, and/or been involved in at least one fight. Against this in the background, his marital difficulties were suddenly exposed during a very public divorce case in late 1882. These events seemed to change Scotton, and it was after this that he became the blocker, possessed of infinite patience, who became famous and notorious.

Having returned from Australia, Scotton had a poor season in 1882. The issue may have been simple exhaustion. Having suffered the stress of the players’ strike in 1881, then taking part in an arduous tour of Australia — which brought more controversy — he arrived back in England on 11 May and was playing cricket for Nottinghamshire seven days later. In first-class cricket, he scored 532 runs at 17.73, passing fifty just once in 20 matches. His highest score for Nottinghamshire was 49 and he scored a pair in the Gentlemen v Players match at Lord’s. He was not selected for the one-off Test match against Australia at the Oval (the famous “Ashes” Test), although he made an unbeaten 49 for Alfred Shaw’s XI against the touring Australian team. In minor cricket, he scored centuries for the MCC against Hertfordshire and for Sheffield Park against another Shaw’s XI.

The following season was not much better. He played just 11 first-class games, scoring 179 runs at 11.93 with a highest score of 25. An 1884 profile of Scotton in Cricket said that “an accident interfered considerably with [his] cricket” in 1883, but the injury came late in the season and does not explain his earlier poor form. Playing for Nottinghamshire against Gloucestershire in early August, he badly hurt his hand catching W. G. Grace. Although he was able to bat in that game, he did not play any cricket for two weeks, and when he returned, it was only to play for the MCC — for whom he had appeared regularly that season. He returned to first-class cricket in September when he played against Nottinghamshire for the MCC. In total, he played in just seven of Nottinghamshire’s fourteen first-class games in 1883, missing five while he was injured.

But the explanation for his decline does not lie with the injury. Apart from any cricket-related worries which occupied him in those two poor seasons, he was in considerably more difficulty in his private life. In mid-June 1877, Scotton had married Ann Bates, the daughter of a publican. The couple had a son, Harold William, in 1878 and lived in the Boat Inn, Beeston, Nottinghamshire. But from early in the marriage, Scotton had been violent towards Ann — more often than she was able to list — and threatened her on numerous occasions. The first time appears to have been when they had been married but a few months, and again when she was due to give birth in 1878. In documents submitted when she filed for divorce, Ann said that he had treated her “with great unkindness and cruelty” and “he frequently in violent and offensive language abused me”. This had an adverse effect on her health. She explained that his treatment of her led her to leave him on numerous occasions to stay with friends, but he had always persuaded her to return, promising that he would change his behaviour. But by 1880, it had become too much and in August, she left him for the final time. According to her later account, he had assaulted her before leaving to play cricket in Cheltenham (Nottinghamshire played Gloucestershire there from 16–18 August 1880) and said that if she was still there when he returned, he would “kick her out”.

The effect on Scotton is hard to judge. In December 1880, he became involved with a woman called Mary Bennett, which Ann later became aware of. It was in the following season that he was caught up in the players’ strike; whether this was influenced by what was happening at home is impossible to say. The 1881 census lists Scotton living at the Boat Inn with several of his family; his brother Sam was named as the head of the family (but with an occupation of “lace maker”) and his sister Annie was listed as the manager. Meanwhile, Scotton’s son Harold was living with his widowed maternal grandmother, but there is no obvious trace of Ann. Perhaps Scotton still hoped for a reconciliation at this stage, but on his return from Australia in 1882 something had clearly changed. In July 1882, he placed a notice in the Nottingham Journal, stating that he would no longer be responsible for any debts run up by his wife; perhaps she had been using his name to spend money, or perhaps he had simply decided that their marriage was irreconcilably over.

The Royal Court of Justice, where all divorce cases were heard at this time
(Image: sjiong (CC BY-SA 2.0) via Wikipedia)

In October 1882, Ann filed for divorce. To the modern eye, this might seem a mundane fact, but in 1882 it was highly unusual. Divorce remained a novelty in Victorian England. Until the 1857 Matrimonial Causes Act, divorce was expensive, difficult and under the control of ecclesiastical courts. The change in law which took place in 1857 made divorce a civil matter and opened it up to ordinary people. Importantly, it allowed women to divorce their husbands, but did not make it easy. The process was very expensive, reducing the opportunities for poorer couples to end unpleasant marriages, and for a woman (rather than her husband) to be granted a divorce in this period required proof of adultery and another criminal offence such as cruelty or desertion (for a husband to be granted a divorce merely required evidence of his wife’s adultery). This was a considerable burden of proof, which is part of the reason why few women pursued divorces rather than the much easier but more restrictive separation order. There were just 334 divorces in 1883 (the year Scotton’s divorce was finalised); in general in this period, approximately 60 per cent came from cases brought by men. Given the difficulty of obtaining a divorce, it was not unheard of for couples to collude to obtain one when both agreed the marriage was over. Conveniently, Scotton admitted to the solicitor’s clerk who handed him the divorce papers that he had been guilty of adultery; additionally, he did not contest the case. But given the amount of evidence brought by his wife, and the very public nature of the court case — all divorces were adjudicated at the High Court of Justice in London — it is unlikely that this divorce involved any collusion.

At the hearing on 20 December 1882, Ann outlined what had taken place, expanding on the detail she gave in the court documents, and she found witnesses to corroborate her story. A woman called Mary Price said that she had seen Ann with “a black eye” on several occasions, and in 1879 when Scotton returned from Cheltenham, she had seen him “knocking her from one end of the bar to the other”. The solicitor’s clerk who served the divorce papers was able to confirm that Scotton had admitted adultery, and a third witness, Mrs Mary Kerry, had seen Scotton and Bennett together; it was the latter’s husband who later told Ann (who was unaware at the time), providing the crucial second offence needed for divorce. The judge was convinced, and granted her a decree nisi. He also awarded custody of Harold to Ann, and granted her costs too, meaning that Scotton had to pay; the cost of an undefended divorce was somewhere between £30 and £50 (between £3,000 and £5,000 today), which was equivalent to the wage Scotton would have received by playing between five and ten matches for Nottinghamshire.

Scotton’s lack of a defence is slightly puzzling, but it may be connected to embarrassment; the divorce was covered in many newspapers, all of which made clear that they were referring to the famous cricketer. Everyone would have known what he had been doing and that his wife had divorced him. The divorce was finalised in July 1883; to compound a miserable few years for Scotton, his father died that September. As for Ann, she remarried in 1897 but died four years later. Their son only lived until 1906.

It is inarguable that Scotton had treated Ann terribly. When set against some of his stranger behaviour in later years, it paints a picture of a none-too-pleasant individual. It is hard to feel much sympathy. But the effect of the divorce on Scotton is hard to quantify. Given that the end of his cricket career induced some form of breakdown in 1890, it is likely that he found the end of his marriage traumatic. It probably largely explains poor form in 1882 and 1883. It might hint at a reason for his escapades — probably with his fists and possibly financial — in Australia. And it is undeniable that it was during the period surrounding his divorce that he dramatically altered his cricket technique.

Previously, he had generally batted quite defensively but was capable of switching his approach and hitting hard. For example, Australian newspapers in 1881 described him as “a hard hitting left hander”. A profile printed in Cricket during the 1884 season said that he had changed his approach “in late years”, which is a little too vague to be useful. Of his style, it said: “Of late years he has given up hitting, which used to be his forte, and taken up an almost strictly defensive style of play. Unlike the majority of left-handed batsmen he comes down very straight on the ball, and his batting is far more correct than is usually the case with them. Though he can hit freely he bats now with great care and steadiness, and he is a very useful man to go in first.” David Frith, in Silence of the Heart (2001) suggests that his injury in 1883, when he hurt his hand catching Grace, was the cause, but the divorce seems just as likely as a reason.

With his divorce finalised by the beginning of the 1884 season, Scotton overcame the poor form that stretched back to 1882 and — perhaps owing to his new approach — had his best season to date. He scored 897 runs at 34.50. In May, he scored his first century for Nottinghamshire, an unbeaten and match-winning 104 against Middlesex at Lord’s. His runs came out of 186 for four as Nottinghamshire won by six wickets; he batted throughout the 135.1 (four ball) overs of the innings (equivalent to 90.1 six-ball overs). His second century was an innings of 134 in six hours against the touring Australians for an “England XI” at Huddersfield. The profile of Scotton, printed in Cricket in mid-July, called the innings “a marvel of defensive cricket”. It described him as occupying “a prominent position among the professional cricketers of the year” and outlined his career to date. It also revealed: “Scotton is, in addition, a good pigeon shot, and as a football player is not without merit. Although not in the Cup team of the Notts Club, he played in several first-class matches last season.” As this predated the formation of the football league, it is hard to discover how often, or in how many seasons, Scotton played for Notts County.

The Australian team of 1884. Back row: J. M. Blackham, H. J. H. Scott, L. Greenwood (umpire), W. E. Midwinter, P. S. McDonnell, G. Alexander. Middle row: G. Giffen, H. F. Boyle, W. L. Murdoch, G. J. Bonner, G. E. Palmer. Seated on floor: A. C. Bannerman, F. R. Spofforth. (Image: National Library of Australia)

More meaningful recognition came when his overall form, after a succession of solid innings, meant that he was called up to the England team by the Surrey Committee (the hosting ground chose the England team in Test matches in this period) for the third Test against Australia. Playing for England at home was vastly more prestigious than appearing in a professional touring team. There had been suggestions that Scotton should have been picked at Lord’s, but he was overlooked for the first two Tests. At the Oval, he was extremely successful, although perhaps his batting was not to everyone’s taste. Facing an enormous Australian total of 551, which occupied most of the first two days of the three-day match, England lost the crucial figure of W. G. Grace to a controversial run-out on the second evening; the umpire, the widely-respected Charles Pullin, was roundly abused by the crowd and criticised in the press for his decision. On the third morning, England collapsed to 181 for eight, but Scotton was still there, having blocked his way to an unbeaten 53 (his half-century took 214 deliveries). He was joined by Walter Read, batting extremely low down the order at number ten given that he was a specialist batter. Read and Scotton put on 151 for the ninth wicket. Read blazed his way to a century in 113 minutes (from 136 balls); according to a later story, he played aggressively largely through anger that the England captain Lord Harris had him batting at number ten. Scotton, meanwhile, kept blocking. When he was finally dismissed, he had scored 90 from 375 balls in 340 minutes. But if dreary, his batting was invaluable; Wisden stated: “He never gave the slightest chance, and it is not too much to say that his splendid display of defensive cricket was the cause of England saving the match. The figures of his innings were nine 4s, five 3s, nine 2s, and 21 singles.” When Read was out soon after, England were all out for 346, but although they had to follow on, there only an hour left in the game — no time for Australia to win — and England had won the series 1–0. There was, however, a feeling that the result flattered England, who had the worst of the two drawn games, in both of which they were saved by the three-day duration of matches.

Scotton ended the season fourth in the first-class average (among those who batted at least ten times; if the cut-off is twenty innings, he was second to A. G. Steele, who averaged 38.68), just ahead of W. G. Grace, who averaged 34.02. Second to Arthur Shrewsbury in the Nottinghamshire averages, Scotton failed to reach double figures only three times in 22 innings for the county. He was certainly among the leading professional batters for the year, at a time when it was amateur batting that usually attracted most attention and praise.

But Scotton was once again caught up in a bitter argument that, this time, had little to do with him directly. Before the first Test, Shrewsbury, William Barnes and Wilfrid Flowers (all of Nottinghamshire) turned down invitations to appear for the Players team at Sheffield against the Australians for the standard match fee of £10 as they were aware that the supposedly amateur Australian cricketers would make a great deal more from the game, sharing half of the gate receipts between them. It was part of an increasingly bitter row over the money the Australians, led by the uncompromising Billy Murdoch, were making from the tour, amid growing accusations of mercenary greed. Matters came to a head in the second Test, the first such game ever played at Lord’s, when the Australian manager negotiated a deal whereby his players took the entirety of the £1,334 gate receipts, while the four professionals in the England team took home £10 each.

As a result of the growing row, between the second and third Test the Nottinghamshire Committee refused to release their professionals for the match between the Players and Murdoch’s team at the Oval, despite being asked to do so by the Surrey Committee. The tourists had become very unpopular for their perceived money-grabbing attitude and their contravention of the supposed amateur spirit; each member of the team went home having made £900 from the tour. The repercussions would be felt for many years to come, and had still not been completely settled (although other issues were also in play) by the time of the 1896 “strike” of professionals before the Oval Test match.

The team managed by Shaw, Shrewsbury and Lillywhite in 1884–85. 1) J. M. Read 2) G. Ulyett 3) W. H. Scotton 4) R. Peel 5) J. Hunter 6) W. Attewell 7) A. Shrewsbury 8) A. Shaw 9) W. Barnes 10) J. Lillywhite 11) W. Flowers 12) J. Briggs 13) W. Bates (Image: Alfred Shaw, Cricketer: His Career and Reminiscences, 1902)

The controversy spilled over into the winter when Shaw, Shrewsbury and James Lillywhite managed another tour of Australia. Scotton was chosen once more, although his record in the previous season meant that this time he was genuinely one of the best batsmen in England. The English team was stronger than any previous combination to tour Australia but on-field events once again were secondary to off-field problems as they were caught in a dispute with the Australian team which had just completed its tour of England. As had been the case after previous tours of England, Murdoch’s team did not disband; the Australian sides usually played several matches at home to maximise their profits. On this occasion, the presence of Murdoch’s Australians posed a threat to the financial success of the English tour, offering an appealing counter-attraction. The same had happened in the 1882–83 season, but that English team was a mainly amateur affair that was not too concerned over making a profit; the 1884–85 team was very much run along commercial lines and any competition was potentially disastrous.

The first problem arose when members of Murdoch’s team made themselves unavailable to face the English team in their early tour games and instead attempted to organise a match of their own in direct competition. As Charles Pardon said in Wisden: “From the moment the members of Murdoch’s team landed … it became evident they were animated by a feeling of bitter hostility towards Shaw and his party.” Part of the reason was connected to the boycotting of the two Players’ matches by the Nottinghamshire professionals — many of whom were in Shaw’s team. There was also a bitter row growing in Australian cricket between Murdoch’s team and everyone else, once more over the issue of money and gate receipts. Disagreements between Murdoch on one side and Shaw and Shrewsbury on the other over what proportion of gate money should go to each team made for an unpleasant tour. The result was that for the second Test, the Australian team was effectively a second eleven as members of Murdoch’s team refused to play. That Murdoch faced opposition from the three main Australian cricket associations, from the press and public, and from former players did not seem to perturb him. A compromise resolution meant that some of Murdoch’s team returned for the last three Tests, but the atmosphere was fraught even if the controversy had largely transformed into an internal Australian dispute.

Amid all the arguments, the tour returned only a small profit for Shaw, Lillywhite and Shrewsbury but the series was an exciting one. England won the decisive final Test to take the series 3–2, but most people were relieved when the season was over. Playing in all five Tests, Scotton scored 159 runs at 19.87, some way down the averages. His record in the three games against state teams was hardly better, leaving him with 224 first-class runs on tour at 17.23. In all games, he managed 882 runs at 20.51. His only century — 123 scored in eight hours — came against Moss Vale XI, a team of 22 in New South Wales. His best innings in the Test series came in the first Test, when Australia were at full strength: he scored 82 in 345 minutes (out of 282 while he was batting) in the first innings (hitting just two fours). It took him 240 deliveries to reach fifty. Wisden praised his “wonderful defence and patience” in that innings. But in his other nine innings, he only reached double figures three times and never passed thirty. Nevertheless, Wisden stated: “The result of [Johnny] Briggs’ dashing play and Scotton’s steady defensive cricket fully warranted their inclusion in the team.” But Cricket noted that Scotton rarely scored heavily, and said that he found the left-handed bowling of William Bruce impossible to work out.

The journey home was a pleasant one; Scotton won several prizes in the games played on the ship. He also sang in a show put on by the players. But it was undeniable that touring teams were responsible for increasing friction in the cricket world. Both of Scotton’s visits to Australia had involved massive controversies. For a man whose later reputation rested on how boring he was, he seemed to attract problems wherever he went. His career so far had included more incidents than were usual for a professional, and his private life was far messier than that of many cricketers of a similar standing. However, when he returned to England he was clearly among the leading batsmen and was likely to have been an unarguable selection in any full-strength Test team. But from this point, critics began to tire of his slow, patient batting; he even became something of a joke. He first lost form, then his career, and then his life.

“He goes about from place to place in a luxuriant and extravagant manner”: Why did J. M. Blanckenberg really play league cricket in England?

Blanckenberg pictured on a D. C. Thompson Cigarette Card from 1924

One of the most mysterious of all Test cricketers was James Manuel Blanckenberg, a leading South African bowler between 1913 and 1924. His medium-paced spin baffled Warwick Armstrong’s world-beating Australian team in 1921, but a leg injury hampered him for the following seasons, and he was surpassed by other bowlers. Furthermore, the South African Test team was very poor in this period, and lacked depth. When it toured England in 1924, the team was outclassed; the home team won the Test series 3–0 and Blanckenberg — and the other bowlers — were powerless on turf pitches which offered far less assistance than the matting on which they played in South Africa. This signalled a change in Blanckenberg’s career as he embarked on a new career as a professional cricketer in the leagues of northern England. It was a change that he made an undoubted success of, and it allows us to fill in some of the gaps in the biography of this elusive figure. But why did one of the leading bowlers in the world turn his back on South Africa? His reasons for going to England may have lain not in cricket, but in a desire to escape his financial responsibilities in South Africa: namely, his daughter and his former wife.

The cricket side of the equation which explains Blanckenberg’s move to England is straightforward. The Lancashire League club Nelson wanted a player to replace their professional E. A. McDonald, who had agreed to join Lancashire County Cricket Club in 1925. Blanckenberg’s reputation, and a recommendation from several leading cricketers (including McDonald), made him Nelson’s preferred choice. This was a big change for Blanckenberg. Until then, he had been an amateur cricketer; in South Africa he worked as an excise officer. Now, he was to become a full-time professional in another country. At the time, despite the success of McDonald between 1922 and 1924, there were few international Test players in English league cricket; although McDonald had shown that such a signing could be successful, few clubs or players dared take the plunge. In Blanckenberg’s first season, there were only two other overseas professionals in the Lancashire League, and both were South Africans: C. B. Llewellyn, who had settled in England some years before, and Blanckenberg’s Test team-mate C. P. Carter.

But there were other factors in Blanckenberg’s decision. On 23 October 1919, he had married Ethel Lilian Freeman. All indications are that the marriage was a rushed one — and perhaps Blanckenberg dragged his feet — because three months after the wedding, their first child, Doreen Mavis Blanckenberg, was born. Their second, Dennis James, died at the age of three months in September 1921. Two years later, the couple divorced acrimoniously, and Blanckenberg found himself before the courts several times. According to Ethel’s account, he left her in September 1920 (which must have almost exactly when she became pregnant with Dennis), but even before that he had lived separately and only visited occasionally; she continued to reside with her father throughout. Ethel began divorce proceedings around the beginning of 1923, at which time Blanckenberg was living in a hotel in Cape Town. He could not attend the first hearing, as he was involved in the 1922–23 Test series against England (the hearing took place between the second and third Tests), but he made clear that he did not intend to fight the divorce. The court ruled that if he did not return to Ethel, a divorce would be granted; he would have the costs to pay and to provide £10 each month for Doreen. He did not return, and the divorce was finalised on 24 April 1923.

By June 1923, Blanckenberg had paid just £5 in two months and Ethel took him to court for non-payment. She observed that he “lives at a first class Hotel in Cape Town, viz. the Regent Palace Hotel, and goes about from place to place apparently in a very luxuriant and extravagant manner and appears to be able to support his said minor child, but wilfully refuses or neglects to do so”. The result was a suspended prison sentence for contempt of court, which had to be served on Blanckenberg at the hotel as he had once more not attended the hearing. It made little difference. By the time he was due to leave for England with the South African team on 6 April 1924, he was still behind in his payments. Ethel’s solicitor attempted to have him arrested before he left the country; Blanckenberg — doubtless in some desperation — found enough money to make two large payments which covered most of what he owed, allowing him to leave with the team. While he was on tour, his maintenance payments were made by the South African Cricket Association, although these were only for £5 per month rather than the required £10.

A final note in the file from Ethel’s solicitor dated June 1925 states: “I think I have done all I reasonably could for Mrs Blanckenberg”. At this point, Ethel fell out with her solicitor and the records stop. But this places a different light on Blanckenberg’s decision to remain in England. It may also explain his decision to leave Western Province to play for Natal in 1923, and account for his offer to Nelson in 1922 to play for their team when it looked like McDonald was to pull out of his controversial agreement with the club. It appears that Blanckenberg was trying to escape Ethel and his financial commitments.

Certainly his movements after the 1924 tour ended were a little strange. Nelson had offered a contract, but he delayed signing — as the Burnley Express put it, “for reasons of his own” — until the end of October. Meanwhile, the bulk of the South African team left Southampton aboard the Armadale Castle on 26 September; Blanckenberg’s name was on the passenger list but was crossed out and he remained in England. According to press reports, he had contracted influenza and was quite ill for a time when it developed into pneumonia. He therefore delayed his departure to recover and spent a few days in Nelson to convalesce. He used the opportunity to sign the contract they were offering; he took up the option of an initial two year deal. The Athletic News reassured its readers — and any Nelson supporters — that Blanckenberg was “a much better cricketer than his record during the last summer revealed.”

SS Edinburgh Castle (Image: State Library of Queensland)

What happened next is something of a mystery. His intention seems to have been to return to South Africa on the same boat as an English side — organised by S. B. Joel and including several famous cricketers — which was to tour South Africa over the winter. And he is named, alongside the English cricketers, on the passenger list for the Edinburgh Castle, which departed from Southampton on 24 October. But according to the Burnley Express of 1 November, he was still in Nelson having chosen to delay his departure until he was fully recovered. Either the passenger list was inaccurate or the Burnley Express had made a mistake. But there is evidence that he never reached South Africa: he seems to have spent most of the winter in Switzerland to assist his recovery from illness. Even this was not straightforward; rumours seem to have begun circulating from February 1925 that Blanckenberg would not be joining Nelson after all. These were widespread enough for Blanckenberg feel obliged to write twice to Nelson in order to reassure the club that he would fulfil his contract.

The second letter (which followed on from an earlier telegram) suggested that his health was still uncertain. He revealed that while in Switzerland in February 1925, he developed tonsillitis which left him “terribly thin as a result”. After he recovered, he arranged to visit Nice and Monte Carlo “with some friends”, but he once again contracted influenza while he was there. The final part of his winter journey took him to Paris, where he revealed that his throat once more troubled him. He claimed that, eager to travel to Nelson, he ignored medical advice to stay in bed and had yet another relapse that was feared to be diphtheria. Therefore Blanckenberg regretfully informed Nelson that he would be forced to miss the beginning of the 1925 season, but he added: “Believe me, the minute I can safely do so I intend coming to Nelson.” Most of the letter was reproduced in the Lancashire Evening Post on 1 May.

Was Blanckenberg genuinely ill? Was he simply avoiding returning to South Africa, where he knew that trouble awaited him in the form of his former wife’s solicitor? Or was he just enjoying the high life? And how was he able to afford what sounds to have been an extravagant holiday in France? Monte Carlo was not the kind of destination which lent itself to frugality, and the most obvious attraction would have been the casinos. This would certainly reinforce the impression given by Ethel: that he enjoyed spending money. Was he also spinning a tale to Nelson to make excuses for his late arrival? Such a catalogue of misfortune as documented in the second letter strains at the bounds of credibility, particularly the claim that he suffered a relapse from trying to travel to Nelson too soon.

While it would be fascinating to know what was really in Blanckenberg’s mind, or what he was actually doing in Switzerland and France, all we can do is deal with the facts. These are that he missed Nelson’s first three matches of the 1925 season — temporary professionals stood in his place — but finally made his Nelson debut three weeks after the season began, in a Worsley Cup match against Church on 9 May, taking four for 20 and scoring 0 (hit wicket). After the delays, illnesses and uncertainty, his first season was an undoubted success with both bat and ball. He finished the season ninth in the league batting averages (among those who batted in at least ten times) with 565 runs at 25.68, and 15th in bowling (among those with twenty or more wickets) with 88 wickets at 11.26 and Nelson finished joint second in the league, equalling their placing from the previous season. At the end of the season, he returned to Switzerland in order to rest and recover.

Blanckenberg bowling in 1924 (Image: The Graphic, 17 May 1924)

For the next three seasons, Blanckenberg maintained these standards. Initially, he was viewed as one of the best bowlers in the competition, but his batting gradually improved until he was one of the best batsmen as well. With the ball, he took 83 wickets (at an average of 10.91, the 12th best in the league) in 1926, 65 (at 11.10, 16th) in 1927 and 80 (at 10.65, 7th) in 1928. However, on the tricky pitches which tended to predominate in the Lancashire League, his bowling was good but not enough to make an enormous difference. His batting, on the other hand, began to have a serious impact. In 1926, he scored 701 runs (at 35.05, 3rd in the league average) which broke the 34-year-old record for a professional at Nelson. After a dip in 1927, when his 510 runs at 25.50 still placed him fifth in the averages, he reached new heights in 1928. He scored 810 runs, setting a new record for any Nelson batsman in a season, and his average of 47.64 was the best in the league. Blanckenberg and the Australian Test player Arthur Richardson of Bacup — the only “overseas” players in the league that year — were involved in a well-publicised race to top the averages, and at one time it looked like both would reach 1,000 runs, something only achieved once in the history of the league until then. Richardson eventually finished third but had the highest aggregate: two runs more than Blanckenberg. The review of the season in The Cricketer suggested that Blanckenberg was a far better batsman than he had been when he toured in 1924, although his bowling was about the same.

More importantly for Nelson, he continued their run of success begun in the days of McDonald. The club fell to seventh in 1926 but won the Worsley Cup, improved to fifth in 1927 and won the league in 1928, their first such success since 1911. That season, the club also won the Worsley Cup, their first “double”, to set the seal on Blanckenberg’s time at the club. In 1926, the Nelson secretary, Mr.E. Ashton, wrote: “We have had many valuable professionals since the club was established, but it is doubtful if we have had one who has rendered us better all round service.”

But there was a sense of impermanence to Blanckenberg’s time at Nelson, and he never seems to have been entirely satisfied. In March 1927, he applied for the position of Secretary at Worcestershire County Cricket Club. The role would have involved playing for the team in the County Championship, which may have been an attraction for him. Was he dissatisfied with life in the leagues? He was 35 at the time, and maybe he wanted to play on a bigger stage once more. Although he was one of the final two candidates, he was not appointed; J. B. Payne was given the role (although he was secretary for just one season; C. F. Walters took over in 1928), with an annual salary of £300. It is possible that this salary may have been a sticking point for Blanckenberg, who would almost certainly have been paid more at Nelson. Given his continuing financial commitments in South Africa, and his own apparent recklessness with money, £300 might not have been enough.

The sense that he was unsettled continued during the 1927 season. Newspaper reports suggested that his future was uncertain; the expectation was that he would return to South Africa at the end of the season. One story, printed in the Leeds Mercury, suggested that “movements are afoot in South Africa” to bring him home in time for the Test series against England in 1927–28, but nothing came of this. In fact, there is no record that he ever returned to South Africa at all; his name does not seem to appear on any passenger list and it seems that he lived permanently in England until after the Second World War.

Blanckenberg left Nelson after the 1928 season, although it is not clear if he chose to move or was replaced. His departure was common knowledge before Nelson signed Learie Constantine during the West Indies’ tour of England in 1928, but negotiations had been ongoing for a while, and it may have been that the club had already told Blanckenberg of their intentions. Blanckenberg signed instead for the East Lancashire club, which some reports stated offered him more money than Nelson. This seems doubtful for several reasons; stories around the time that Constantine joined the club recalled that McDonald had been paid £400 per season, and according to the Sporting Chronicle in June 1928, Blanckenberg was “paid not very far short of that sum”. And for once, we can be sure of Blanckenberg’s wage at East Lancashire thanks to a court case when he received a summons to Burnley County Court in June 1930 for not paying income tax. He told the court that he was paid £340 for the season, plus collections and talent money. By contrast, Constantine was paid £500 per season for his initial deal with Nelson, plus travelling expenses and performance bonuses; it looks as if Blanckenberg may have taken a pay cut to move clubs.

Whatever the cause for him leaving, there was no acrimony. In April 1929 the club gave him a farewell dinner. An article in the Burnley Express at the end of his final season said: “The four seasons Blanckenberg spent at Nelson have had a great bearing on the present efficiency of the side. The South African is an enthusiast, and loves the game, and the young players owe debt of gratitude to him for the advice and coaching they have received at his hands.” Praise for his influence on young players continued in later years, not least when Clifford Hawkwood, a Nelson player who was the “‘shadow’ of ‘Jimmie’ Blanckenberg in his play” according to the Nelson Leader in 1931, was selected for the Lancashire team.

But Blanckenberg was not to know that his undoubted accomplishments at Nelson would be utterly overshadowed by his replacement: Learie Constantine not only had an incredible record on the field and led Nelson to a prolonged period of success (the club won the league seven times during his nine seasons there and runners up in the other two), but he was so popular and such a draw for spectators that he almost single-handedly brought about vastly increased attendances and gate receipts for Nelson and the whole league. His unprecedented attraction to spectators almost instantly solved Nelson’s financial worries and made them one of the richest clubs in the league.

Blanckenberg’s move to East Lancashire was a success on the field at first. In 1929, he scored 949 runs at 39.54 (3rd) and took 75 wickets at 12.58 (12th). Once more, he was engaged in a battle with Richardson, and although the latter came out on top, passing 1,000 runs, critics mainly viewed Blanckenberg as the more attractive, stylish and entertaining batsman. The clashes between Blanckenberg and Constantine, when East Lancashire faced Nelson, were keenly anticipated; more than ten thousand came to watch the first game, played at Nelson. Blanckenberg scored 77 out of 127 (Constantine took four for 58) but was on the losing side. We shall return to this match later, because something very important happened which has driven all subsequent understanding of Blanckenberg as a cricketer and as a man, but for now it is better to conclude the story of his league cricket career.

In 1930, Blanckenberg began to decline: he scored 435 runs at 19.77 (28th) and took 54 wickets at 15.75 (24th). It was at this time that he found himself in court for non-payment of income tax; once again, he found himself threatened with imprisonment if he did not pay what he owed. The case, which was reported in local newspapers, gave full details of his financial situation. His wage from East Lancashire was £340. Of this, he was sending £60 a year to his ex-wife (which would have been less than the £120 he was supposed to pay), and East Lancashire were deducting ten shillings weekly to repay an advance sent to him over the winter (which worked out at £10 for the season). It was also revealed that he had at least two county court judgements against him and he was paying a further ten shillings “in respect of another case”. Part of the issue may have been that he was not working in the winter, but it does seem that his financial problems were multiplying; the advance given to him by East Lancashire over the winter may have been urgently needed to meet his expenses. Perhaps he enjoyed an extravagant lifestyle that he could not afford: certainly his financial problems in South Africa, the damning testimony of Ethel and his visit to Monte Carlo in 1925 all point towards a man who spent too much and was accustomed to financial strife.

That July, it was announced that Blanckenberg had signed for Rochdale, a club in the Central Lancashire League, for 1931; he was taking over as professional from Sydney Barnes. Had Blanckenberg’s loss of form resulted in the loss of his contract? Or did he decide to move? The latter seems unlikely as the Central Lancashire League was definitely seen as subordinate to the Lancashire League.

Laura Rofe (Image: Liverpool Echo, 2 April 1931)

There was also a development in his personal life. On 1 April 1931, Blanckenberg married Laura Herberta Freda Rofe, a gymnastics teacher (or as she put it on the marriage certificate, a “Physical Culture Mistress”) at the Blackburn High School for Girls. Both were living in Blackburn at the time and married at the Register Office. The local press reported the event, and given Blanckenberg’s relative fame, a crowd gathered outside, only to be disappointed when the newly-married couple slipped out of a back exit to avoid them. A newspaper reporter also related how Blanckenberg, on arriving at Laura’s house on the morning of the wedding, found a ladder against the wall, placed there for repairs. With the aid of a journalist, he moved it to avoid anyone having to walk underneath and bring bad luck. After the wedding, the couple departed on a “motoring honeymoon”. Among their gifts were presents from Laura’s school colleagues, pupils and former pupils; Blanckenberg received a cheque from members of East Lancashire. There was no mention of anything else, such as a gift from his former Nelson colleagues. He was also unusually precise on the marriage certificate; his “condition” was listed as: “The divorced husband of Ethel Lilian Blanckenberg, formerly Freeman (spinster).”

The newly-married Blanckenberg made a good start to his career with Rochdale in 1931. He scored 555 runs at 30.83 (second in the league averages) and took 59 wickets at 12.03. (fourteenth in the averages). His best performance came in early July, after he had made a poor start to the season with the bat, when he hit 115 not out and took nine for 28 in the match against Milnrow. During the season, he also made a brief return to the Lancashire League when he played two matches as a replacement professional: one for Colne and one for Burnley. He stayed at Rochdale until 1933 and continued to excel. In 1932, he broke the Central Lancashire League run-scoring record in a single season with 916 runs at 39.82 (3rd in the averages) and took 76 wickets at 12.26 (11th). In 1933, he scored 591 runs at 31.10 (5th) and took 54 wickets at 16.42 (20th). But that was the end of his Rochdale career. In February 1934, he announced his retirement from professional cricket, owing to a leg injury which he said, in a letter written to the Rand Daily Mail, prevented him bowling. This may have been the same leg which he injured in 1921 and which had hampered him for some time.

Blanckenberg’s league record in England is a formidable one. For Nelson, he scored 2,586 runs at 32.73 (his highest score was 143 not out) and took 316 wickets at 10.98 (his best figures were nine for 41) in 93 matches. For East Lancashire he made 1,384 runs at 30.08 (his highest score was 120) and took 129 wickets at 13.91 (best figures of nine for 45) in 52 matches. When taken with his two matches in 1931, he scored 4,000 runs at 31.49 and took 448 wickets at 11.91 in 147 matches in the Lancashire League between 1925 and 1931. In the Central Lancashire League, he scored 2,062 runs at 34.37 and took 189 wickets at 13.38 between 1931 and 1933. Whatever else can be said about him, Blanckenberg was one of the best league players of his time and but for his questionable reputation and his utter eclipse by Constantine he might have been remembered as one of the most effective of all.

Blanckenberg photographed around 1936 (Image: Leeds Mercury, 13 February 1936)

Although Blanckenberg no longer played professionally, he was not finished as a cricketer. He moved to the Bradford area and played as an amateur for Keighley in 1934 (alongside Sydney Barnes, who had lurked in the background of Blanckenberg’s career since before the war) and 1935. An article in the Shipley Times and Express in early 1934 suggested that he had played occasionally for Keighley in 1933 during some holiday games. There are few records of his time at the club, other than the occasional newspaper mention. He did not play enough to make the published averages in 1934, and in 1935 he scored 300 runs at 27.27 but did not make the leading bowling averages. It was reported in February 1936 that he was to captain the team in the coming season. From the fragmentary records, it appears that he appeared infrequently that year, although he continued to play (and captain) in 1937. An article in the Leeds Mercury in 1936, announcing his appointment as captain, suggested that his presence had attracted several promising young players to the club. The only performances of note which he seems to have had for Keighley were an unbeaten century in a cup match against Bradford in 1935 and figures of five for 27 against Bingley in 1936.

After 1937, Blanckenberg faded into obscurity. This disappearance is part of the reason that so much mystery and rumour surrounds him, but it is possible to put together a little bit more about him than is generally realised. His wife seems to have played a much more public role than him. By the late 1930s, Mrs Blanckenberg (as she was usually listed) was giving demonstrations of physical fitness in Sussex and was part of the Central Council of Recreative Physical Training, part of her role being to travel around the country giving talks, demonstrations and offering training sessions. She continued in this role during and after the Second World War, and at least once seems to have involved her husband: he was listed as attending cricket practices in Cambridge organised by the local National Fitness Committee and the Central Council of Recreative Physical Training in 1939.

By 1938, the couple were living in London, according to the Electoral Register. The 1939 Register taken at the beginning of the war lists them at 9 Gloucester Street in Westminster. Blanckenberg’s occupation was listed as the “H. S. A. Sports League Secretary” (The H. S. A. was the Hospital Savings Association, an organisation that helped members save for medical care and health insurance). Laura was listed as a “Physical Training Specialist”. We have no record of where they lived during the war, although Laura continued to work publicly for the Central Council of Recreative Physical Training. The last record we have for Blanckenberg is the 1947 Electoral Register, which lists him and Laura living in Harrow at 45 Sherrington Avenue. By 1948, Blanckenberg and Laura were divorced, and she married another divorcee called Samuel Medlicott. She died in 1991 in Birmingham.

Of Blanckenberg, there is no further trace in England or South Africa. He simply vanishes from the records, and no-one knows with any certainty what happened next. His first wife Ethel died in 1961; his daughter Doreen died in South Africa in 2005, but she seems to have had little contact with him. Into the vacuum, all kinds of strange and contradictory stories have rushed. There are some solidly attested events that have fed speculation about his possible fate, and these shed some unpleasant light on him. But can they help with the biggest question of all: what happened to J. M. Blanckenberg?

Note: Thanks to Michael Jones, who was able to provide information on Blanckenberg’s divorce.

Both a Gentleman and a Player: The story of Edwin Diver

Portrait of Edwin Diver from his interview in Cricket: A Weekly Record of the Game, 21 December 1899

On 26, 27 and 28 April 1886, during Easter Week, a fairly unremarkable early-season cricket match took place at the Oval between Surrey and Gloucestershire. Surrey dominated and won by five wickets. But the scorecard conceals an unusual occurrence. Two former amateurs, Gloucestershire’s Walter Gilbert and Surrey’s Edwin Diver, were by coincidence both making their first appearances as paid professional cricketers. Neither man had an especially impressive match, although Gilbert took three wickets in one over, while Diver shared a fifty-run partnership with Bobby Abel, who scored a century. But their performances were a side-note as most of the interest in the game came from their almost unprecedented conversion from amateur to professional.

Walter Gilbert’s first-class professional career began and ended with this match. Before Gloucestershire played again, he had been arrested for theft and, after completing a 28-day sentence of hard labour, moved to Canada to begin a new life away from the scandal that brought his time in English cricket to a close. His spectacular fall has been written about several times.

Far less well-known is the story of Edwin Diver, the other debutant professional in that Surrey v Gloucestershire match. Diver was seven-and-a-half years younger than Gilbert and had a much more successful professional career. Unlike Gilbert, whose decision to become a professional was a desperate final attempt to overcome crippling financial difficulties, Diver arrived via a gentler route. He soon became only the second player, after Richard Daft, to play in the Gentlemen v Players match as both an amateur and a professional. And despite his switch of status, he remained highly regarded by the cricketing establishment – when he died, a generous obituary appeared in Wisden. However, Diver’s career came to a slightly untidy conclusion for reasons that are unclear.

Edwin James Diver was the nephew of Alfred Diver, a professional batsman who was a member of the first overseas team of English cricketers, which toured North America in 1859. Edwin’s father James was a college porter at Cambridge University; the family lived in various locations, so it is not clear at which college he worked, but they usually lived near Jesus College. Edwin was born in Cambridge a few weeks before the 1861 census, which records a midwife was still living with the family at their home on Upper Park Street. By 1871 the family, now living at Jesus Lane, could afford to employ a servant. Unlike the Gilbert family, there are no indications that they had financial problems.

At the time of the 1881 census, Diver was an Assistant Master at Wimbledon College in Surrey (although his name is almost illegible on the census return, it is certainly him). He had already established himself as a good cricketer. On one occasion, he scored 131 playing against his employers for the Stygians.

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The Surrey team in 1885; Diver, then playing as an amateur, is standing at the back, second from the left

Working at Wimbledon College allowed him to qualify by residence for Surrey, for whom he played as an amateur from 1883. He averaged in the mid-20s in his first season, playing during the school holidays, and scored five fifties, respectable figures at the time. In his Wisden obituary, the editor Sydney Pardon recalled his early days with Surrey:

“He will always be best remembered on account of his short but brilliant connection with Surrey … A most attractive batsman in point of style, with splendid hitting power on the off side, his success was immediate. Indeed, he created such an impression that in the following year he was given a place in the Gentlemen’s Eleven against the Australians at Lord’s.”

In that 1884 game against the Australians, Diver batted very well when he came in to bat in the second innings with his team needing 45 to win having lost six wickets. He and AG Steel knocked off the runs without being parted. Further recognition came for Diver that season when he was selected for the Gentlemen v Players match at the Oval (although he scored a pair). It is clear that, at this stage in his career, he was starting to position himself among the leading amateurs in England. He never quite progressed though. In his obituary, Pardon wrote: “It cannot be said that Diver ever improved on his earliest efforts for Surrey, but he held his own, playing many a fine innings”. But in fairness to Diver, this may have been owing to what was happening off the field. Around this time, Wimbledon College went bankrupt, leaving him without an income. Diver, like many amateurs, was left struggling to afford a cricket career.

In The Players (1988), Ric Sissons details what happened next. In September 1884, the Surrey Committee made the rather unorthodox decision to pay Diver, still nominally an amateur, £2 per week throughout the winter “as long as he remains in the county”. In cricket terms, this paid off as he scored over 900 runs in 1885, including his first century for the county. In August 1885, Surrey gave him £75 to mark his “retirement” as he gave up cricket apparently to work in an office.

But in April 1886, Diver wrote to the Committee, saying that he was “heartily sick of office work and extremely fond of cricket but not having private means to allow me to continue to play as an amateur”. Therefore he asked to join the Surrey ground-staff as a professional; the Committee consented, although giving no guarantees how often he would play. Diver’s father was irritated, complaining to the Committee who replied to him that “no encouragement had been given to EJ Diver to become a professional.”

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The Surrey team in 1886; Diver, now a professional, is seated third from the left

That season, Diver played 22 first-class matches, although he was less successful with the bat than in previous years. Nevertheless, he was selected once more for the Gentlemen v Players match at the Oval, this time for the professional team, making him one of the very few men to appear for both sides in this fixture, and only the second after Richard Daft.

However, this was Diver’s only season as a Surrey professional. Perhaps the wage paid by Surrey was not enough to make ends meet. But it also appears that he wished to continue working as a schoolmaster. When the season ended, he returned to Cambridge and opened his own school. Cricket wished him luck on his “return to his old vocation” and recorded that he had “taken premises in Trumpington Street”. Around this time, he also played with some distinction for Cambridge Victoria Cricket Club. He enjoyed a remarkable season in 1887: he scored 213 against Royston, then shortly after, in the space of a week, he scored 312 not out against St John’s College and 200 against Biggleswade. Some regret was expressed that Diver had been lost to first-class cricket.

But as recorded by Sissons in The Players, Diver continued to be associated with cricket. He later became the joint secretary and treasurer of Cambridgeshire County Cricket Club; Sissons does not say if this was a paid position, but it most likely would have been, which may suggest that Diver’s school was short-lived.

In 1891, Diver moved to Birmingham, where he played professional football for Aston Villa, appearing in three matches as a goalkeeper and seems to have remained on their books for three seasons. He also played cricket for Birmingham in the Midland League, although it is unclear whether he did so as an amateur or professional. Some clues about his status also appear in the pages of Cricket. In 1891, he played a first-class match for the South against the North; the scorecard omits his initials, indicating that he played as a professional. But at the end of the season, he appeared for “Eighteen of District” against “Eleven of Warwickshire” at Birmingham in a benefit match for AA Lilley. On this scorecard, he is given initials and so must have appeared as an amateur; Sydney Santall, another cricketer who played both as amateur and professional, played in this match as a professional.

In November 1894, Diver married Alice Beasley, the daughter of a publican, at Birmingham Parish Church; he listed his profession as “cricketer”. They had one child, Nora, in 1896 (although from what Diver said on the 1911 census, they may have had another child who did not survive and for whom there is no record). The couple managed hotels after their marriage, moving several times before settling at the Priory Hotel in Walsall.

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The Warwickshire team in 1898; Diver is seated on the far right, his fellow amateur-turned-professional Sydney Santall is standing in the centre of the back row

Living in Birmingham eventually gave Diver a residential qualification to play for Warwickshire, for whom he played before they achieved first-class status. He resumed his first-class career as a professional with the county from 1894, although he only appeared a few times in 1895, the club’s first season in the County Championship. Diver was reasonably successful for Warwickshire from 1896, when he appeared more regularly. He was second in the county’s averages for 1896, but was fifth or lower from then until his career ended in 1901.

Diver had his best season in first-class cricket in 1899, passing 1,000 runs for the only time in his career. His only century came against Leicestershire, but this innings of 184 – out of a total of 276 – was his highest in first-class cricket. The runs came in 155 minutes and he reached his hundred before lunch on the first day. His reward for this form was to be selected once more for the Gentlemen v Players match at the Oval.

At the end of the season, Diver became the first professional to captain Warwickshire when no amateurs were available for their match against Essex at Leyton. As there were so many professionals, the Essex Committee permitted the Warwickshire team to use the changing room for visiting amateurs, but told them they could not use the amateurs’ gate, and instead must take a circuitous detour though the pavilion to use the side gate; they were also not permitted to sit in front of the pavilion. Contemporary reports reveal that two Warwickshire players pointedly refused to follow the instructions, using the amateurs’ gate to cheers from the crowd, and Diver protested to the Essex Committee. Sissons wrote in The Players that Diver went further and led the players along the boundary to enter the field by the amateurs’ gate, leading to a complaint from Essex, the home team. Contemporary reports do not mention this, but do suggest that there was some minor controversy over the events of the game. Sympathy was largely with Warwickshire, and Essex apologised for their treatment of the professionals.

A feature in Sporting Life in December 1899 following his successful season said that Diver claimed of his switch to professionalism that “amongst gentlemen the change made has not altered his position socially”. The article also reported: “At the present time Diver is highly respected in and around Birmingham, being the proprietor of one of the most flourishing hotels in the Midlands.” These two suggestions appear somewhat contradictory: it is hard to see that leading amateur cricketers of the time – men like CB Fry, Lord Hawke or FS Jackson – would have wished to associate with a professional cricketer who was running a hotel.

Diver was also interviewed for a feature in Cricket that December. The writer judged that “Diver’s cricket is of the kind which everybody likes to watch. He does not play a rash game, but on the other hand he never misses a chance of scoring, and while he is at the wickets it is a certainty that there will be some altogether delightful hits.” He commented that Diver hit especially hard on the off-side. Despite his experience in the Birmingham League, he considered that leagues were bad for first-class cricket; he also criticised slow play and defensive batting.

Diver had a poor season in 1900, and played just once in 1901, his final season in first-class cricket. But it is not exactly clear why his career ended as he had only suffered from one poor season and he played a good innings of 31 during his only appearance in 1901. There are a few possible explanations, but it appears the choice was his own and that he was not dropped. Perhaps outside interests prevented him playing more frequently: in October 1900 he had been elected President of Walsall Football Club, which may have taken up his time. He also may have needed to give more attention to his hotel. Or it is possible that increasing financial worries occupied his attention.

The Priory Hotel, Walsall pictured in 1983; the building is now an outlet of KFC (Image: Black Country History)

The 1901 census records him still as the manager of the Priory Hotel in Walsall, with a live-in staff of eight, plus his wife, daughter, and a relative of his wife. But this state of affairs did not last. On 12 November 1901, Diver disappeared without saying goodbye to his wife. The only clue she had came from a guest who told her that “Mr. Diver was seen at Queenstown to go aboard a boat bound for New York”. Supported by their brewery, Alice Diver applied to have the licence transferred to her name, which was approved in court. At the hearing, she explained that Diver was in financial difficulties; she also reported that she had previously managed the hotel during his absences through cricket and had great experience of managing public houses (presumably through her father). She stated that she had no intention of allowing Diver to return. By the end of February 1902, when the licence was permanently transferred to Mrs Diver, she had still not heard from her husband.

It appears that Warwickshire had not entirely given up on the notion that Diver could still play for them despite his disappearance, but an early-season issue of Cricket in 1902 listed him as “not likely to play” during 1902. Instead, Diver surfaced in Norfolk, where he played cricket in Hunstanton during the 1902 season. Shortly after this, he moved permanently to Wales. He played as a professional for Newport in Monmouthshire (Cricket reported that he scored 138 for the club in May 1903), and represented Monmouthshire in the Minor Counties Championship between 1905 and 1914. He also represented South Wales in matches against several touring cricketing teams, including Australian sides.

The only time Diver got in touch with his wife was to ask her to “intercede for him with his late employer” – presumably the brewery – and he never asked her to join him or offered her any financial support. These details emerged when Alice Diver applied for a divorce in early 1909 on the grounds of desertion, and adultery with Mrs Ellen Williams (whose maiden name appears to have been Salathiel) between 1905 and 1908. Williams, who supported Alice Diver’s claim, told the court that she had married a journalist called Samuel Williams who, it transpired, was already married and who then abandoned her. It was after this that she became close to Diver, and he “visited her” several times over the following years. The divorce, and custody of their child, was granted to Alice.

According to an article in the Folkestone Express, Sandgate, Shorncliffe & Hythe Advertiser (7 December 1910), Alice continued to have financial problems after the divorce. In 1909, she moved to Folkestone where she attempted to establish her own boarding house but business was never good enough to keep it running. By the end of 1909, she was heavily in debt and had to close the establishment; in late 1910, she was declared bankrupt and moved to Canterbury where she once more became manager of a hotel. On the 1911 census Alice, calling herself widowed, was visiting the Falstaff Hotel in Canterbury but was still listed as a hotel proprietor. By 1918, she had returned to Birmingham and was managing the Pitman Hotel: a report in the Birmingham Daily Post on 18 June recorded that she had been fined for not keeping an accurate register of food served, and exceeding the allowed amount of fat in meals. On the 1939 Register, she was still a hotel keeper, living in Hereford. She lived until 1959. Their daughter Nora married in 1921 and appears to have moved to Canada.

Meanwhile, in 1911, Diver was living alone as a boarder in Newport, listing himself on the census as a “professional cricketer and Ground Manager” at Newport Athletic Club. He remained as a coach at Newport until 1921, when he moved to Pontardawe near Swansea. Soon after, he died of heart failure, being found in bed on the morning of 27 December 1924. His obituary in Wisden, part of the same edition that reported Gilbert’s death, observed that “without realising all the bright promise of his early days, [he] played a prominent part in the cricket field for many years”.

Unlike Gilbert, Diver appears to have been happy to become professional and did not try to remain as an amateur through hidden payments, other than for a short time after he lost his job as a schoolmaster. He never seemed to believe it had brought disgrace upon him. And despite his “conversion”, he was remembered with affection by the cricketing world, as was clear from his Wisden obituary. Sydney Pardon even wrote the entry himself, a courtesy he did not extend to Gilbert in the same edition. Whatever circumstances ended Diver’s first-class career and caused him to leave his wife – and these may have been financial – he continued to play professional cricket and seems to have managed well enough in his later years. But if Gilbert lived happily in Canada with his family and in a respectable new job, perhaps Diver never quite achieved this peace. Instead he died alone in Wales.

By the time Gilbert and Diver died in 1924, few other amateurs had followed them by becoming professionals. CJB Wood had “converted” to a professional, but later reverted to amateur status. FR Santall, the son of Diver’s old team-mate Sydney, played for Warwickshire as an amateur from 1919 until 1923, then as a professional until 1939. But two examples in the later 1920s made a greater success of their conversion than either Gilbert or Diver.

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  Laurie Charles Eastman
  by Bassano Ltd
  whole-plate glass negative, 25 July 1931
  NPG x150091
  © National Portrait Gallery, London

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  Charlie Barnett (Image: Wikipedia)

Laurie Eastman and Charlie Barnett, two amateur-turned-professional cricketers who played in the 1920s and 1930s

LC Eastman, known to the cricket world as “Laurie”, played for Essex between the First and Second World War. Other than his cricket, little is known about Eastman’s life. He was the fourth child of John and Mary Eastman; his father was a tea merchant in London, although between the 1901 and 1911 censuses, he appears to have been reduced from an “employer” to an employed clerk.

During the First World War, Eastman received the Distinguished Conduct Medal and the Military Medal, but for reasons not made entirely clear in his Wisden obituary, the war ended his plan “to take up medicine as his profession”. Instead, he pursued an interest in cricket, making his debut for Essex as an amateur in 1920. In his first match, he took three wickets in four balls; in his third, he scored 91 batting at number ten against Middlesex at Lord’s. But these successes were not followed up, perhaps because, as his Cricketer obituary put it, his form was “adversely affected if the game was going against Essex”. Or in other words, he did not deal well with pressure on the cricket field.

Eastman played six times in 1920 and another six in 1921, presumably as he could not afford to play regularly. But from 1922, Essex followed the path taken by many counties to secure the services of amateurs with financial worries, and appointed him as their Assistant Secretary. From then on, he played regularly. After six years playing as an amateur, he became a professional from 1927, although there was little fanfare over this, and certainly none of the comment that followed the decisions by Gilbert and Diver in 1886. An aggressive batsman who often opened the batting, he was never a consistent performer. In 1929, he passed 1,000 first-class runs for the first time, a feat he repeated four times in the 1930s with his best return being 1,338 runs at an average of 32.63 in 1933. He never took 100 wickets in a season, his best being 99 in 1935, but generally took respectable numbers of wickets, first with medium-paced swing and later with spin. In the 1930s, he wrote several articles for newspapers in the 1930s without revealing too much or being in any way controversial. His career ended with the war in 1939, his benefit match being one of the last played. Injured by the force of a bomb while working as an Air Raid Warden, he never fully recovered and died after undergoing an operation in 1941.

Perhaps one of the most famous and successful “conversions” was Charlie Barnett. He was born in 1910, the son of a former Gloucestershire amateur who worked as a fish, game and poultry dealer. After being educated at Wycliffe, he first played for Gloucestershire as a 16-year-old amateur in 1927 and turned professional in 1929. In 1930, he married a widow who was 13 years his senior. According to his Wisden obituary, “Barnett retained a certain amateur hauteur in his cricket and his life; the supporters knew him as Charlie, but he always regarded himself as Charles. In the dressing-room he became known as The Guv’nor.”

Barnett was an extremely aggressive opening batsman and serviceable medium-paced bowler good enough to play for England in 20 Test matches. He made his debut in 1933, toured Australia for the 1936-37 Ashes series and scored 99 in the first session of the first Test of 1938, reaching his century from the first ball after lunch. Interestingly, on the 1939 Register, he listed himself not as a professional cricketer but as the manager and proprietor of a fish, game and poultry dealer. He briefly played for England after the war, and retired from first-class in 1948 when he went to play as a professional in the Central Lancashire League.

Unlike other ex-amateurs, we know more about Barnett as he lived until 1993 and was a frequent interviewee in later years, not least on the subject of Walter Hammond. And in many ways, he seems to have been an almost stereotypical amateur type; his Wisden obituary concluded:

“In retirement, he ran a business in Cirencester. A journalist called him a fishmonger. He wrote an indignant letter, saying he supplied high-class poultry and game, not least to the Duke of Beaufort. He maintained his amateur mien: he lived like a squire and hunted with the Beaufort and the Berkeley Vale, always, so it is said, with the uncomplicated verve he displayed at the crease.”

David Foot, in his 1996 book Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why had this to say:

“In the dressing room … Barnett was known as The Guvnor. This was because he’d been to a public school, had a better voice and more authority than most of the committee, and usually won an argument when he went striding in – on behalf of fellow pros with a legitimate grievance – to take on the county club’s management. He didn’t have a great sense of humour and was inclined to be bumptious … [He was] a Gloucestershire man of some social status who was not ashamed to play cricket as a professional … [He] lived in a fine Georgian house, hunted twice a week with the Beauforts and the Berkleys and didn’t stand any nonsense from anyone. The other pros very much respected him”.

But for all his impact, Barnett may be better remembered now for his abiding hatred of Hammond, with whom he had once been close. David Foot’s Wally Hammond: The Reasons Why contains a lot of Barnett’s views of his former captain. Even in the kindly hands of Foot, Barnett’s venom comes through; not a little of it appears to have been a slight sense of superiority, but his main grievance appears to have been how Hammond abandoned his first wife to have open affairs, and his unwillingness to play in Barnett’s benefit match in 1947.

Hammond himself famously switched from being a professional to become an amateur and captain England. But, overlooked by many, he actually began his career as an amateur, playing a few games for Gloucestershire in 1920 before signing professional forms for the following season. Hammond was not alone in switching from professional to amateur. Lancashire’s Jack Sharp did so, and subsequently became both Lancashire captain and a Test selector; Vallance Jupp likewise became captain of Northamptonshire after assuming amateur status. Warwickshire’s Jack Parsons went from professional to amateur, back to professional and finally became an amateur again. But perhaps these are stories for another time…